


Hook, Line, and Sinker

by KuroAoki, TenMoreSins



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Bad Decisions, Bruising/Marking, Choking, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Even More Bad Decisions, Fantasizing, Feels, Hormones Are A Hell Of A Drug, Humiliation, Kink Discovery, M/M, Manipulation, Masochism, Masturbation in Shower, No really I mean it, Peter Parker is Too Gullible, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Praise Kink, Quentin Beck is Shameless (But We Knew That), Questioning, Semi-Public Sex, Size Queen Peter Parker, This List Is Just Going To Get Longer, This References an RP Nobody Will Ever See, Under-negotiated Kink, Underage Drinking, Unintentionally a Chapterfic, VERY UNRELIABLE NARRATOR
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-12 05:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20993276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuroAoki/pseuds/KuroAoki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenMoreSins/pseuds/TenMoreSins
Summary: When was it exactly, Peter wonders, that he became so hopelessly and irreversibly stuck on Quentin Beck?He thinks it must have been somewhere between the first handshake and the third mind blowing orgasm.And it really only gets worse from there.





	1. The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KuroAoki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuroAoki/gifts).

> Okay bear with me, this may be tiny but it's a big leap for me! I haven't actually written any fandom content for anything in over a decade, so naturally when I decided to stick my toes back in the water, this ship latched on to them like a ravenous overpowered piranha that dragged me down into the abyssal depths. And by piranha I mean my best friend Kuro (who is the Quentin Beck to my Peter Parker and he slays me, Beck's lines in this are courtesy of him).
> 
> Side note: Yes, Peter is 16, sorry not sorry, I'm total trash. This is a side-scene from a big ol' RP Kuro and I are doing, so everything in here references that (and for now at least it's not going to be public, actually sorry about that one). Luckily it can be read as a standalone! This takes place after a canon divergence in the middle of the bar scene in Far From Home.
> 
> That said, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy ~

_ Hi, Mister Beck, sorry I didn’t get you a postcard. _

Maybe the way Beck laughed at that was how Peter Parker realized he was hopelessly stuck, the thought echoing in his head as he scrubbed at his hair, trying to ignore the way he could feel the steady thrum of his pulse between his thighs.

He watched the suds circle down the drain, dragging his hand down his face and back up to push back the hair plastered to his forehead, head dropping back into the spray of what was arguably the fanciest showerhead he’d ever seen. Fury really spared no expense, and yet because of him Peter was here, vacation ruined, plan obliterated by the harsh rub of a beard against his skin and one surely bad decision after another after another.

Okay, that last part he could admit was entirely his fault.

His cock twitched at the memory, and he let his head fall forward, one hand braced against the shower wall as he all but glared down at it, standing proudly at attention as if it hadn’t gotten enough the night before.

“Traitor,” he huffed, trying to will his erection to go back down with his gaze alone. It wasn’t like he had much time, not with the way the trip had come to a screeching halt in the wake of last night’s attack. Now was really not the time for this.

_ Breathe, Peter_.

He bit his lip at the memory of that low timbre, the sound of his name like that. The authority.

_ Good boy. _

Maybe it was even earlier, pressed against the wall in the shadows of the alley behind the hotel, caged in by Beck’s broader, taller frame. Maybe it was when he decided to sneak Mysterio into his room in the middle of the night, not even thinking of what that meant.

Fingers wrapped around himself, Peter leaned forward, free hand a fist pressed to the wall and then something to close his teeth on to muffle the moan that rose up unbidden. _Okay so we’re doing this_, he thought, letting his eyes fall closed as he stroked himself, slow at first, almost reluctant.

_ What’d you bring me up here for, Peter? _

Blue, blue eyes pinning him to the spot, making him say everything, every step of the way. The slow, sharp curve of that smile making his stomach flip and causing heat to coil tight like a spring in his belly. He groaned against his fist, working up a rhythm and breathing through his nose, the water streaming hot down his back feeling just that much hotter.

No, it was definitely earlier, braced against the bathroom wall with Beck pressed to his back, large, expert hand wrapped tight around his leaking cock. He’d never been touched before, but the mix of adrenaline, nerves, hormones and the strong vodka cranberry he never should’ve accepted blurred the line between smart and really, really stupid.

Peter’s hand moved in his best facsimile of the way he’d been touched, and he pictured it, hips twitching against his own hand as he desperately tried to keep quiet. Thumb sweeping over the slit, he tightened his grip, pictured being pinned from behind, felt the ghost of a thick cock sliding along the cleft of his ass.

_ C’mon kid._

So vivid he could feel the hot breath against his ear, hear the smile in Beck’s voice, dripping sweet and so honest with him.

_ I know it’s your first time, but you gotta tell me._

God he was close, mouth open and panting against his fist as the memories started to blend together, his focus fraying fast. He wasn’t going to last, not with the flashes across the backs of his eyelids of the way Beck looked at him, the way he said his name, the curve of his lips both sharp and soft at the same time.

_ Come for me, kid_.

And he did, biting down on a cry as he shot off against the shower wall, just like he’d made a mess of the bathroom wall, hips jerking into his loosened grip until he couldn’t take the sensation anymore, spent and shaking. Sinking to the floor of the tub, he just sat there, letting the water wash away the evidence of just how bad he had it for _ Mysterio_, even after just one night of fooling around.

Letting his head fall back against the wall, Peter waited while his heart calmed down and his breathing returned to normal, until his limbs stopped feeling like jelly so he could actually finish his shower and get packed up. Really, it probably wasn’t even any of the touching or the pleasure, the embarrassment or the need, but something else entirely.

The self sacrifice play, bottom of his stomach dropping out as he’d approached Beck’s prone form in the rubble. 

The soaring feeling of relief when he was alive. 

The understanding.

Tony Stark’s glasses.

The hug, cheek pressed against metal.

The desperation when Beck turned away, clearly disappointed.

_ I think I just don’t want to be alone right now_.

_ I like you too much. _

_ Don’t ever apologize for being the smartest one in the room_.

Maybe he just needed to admit it to himself that Beck was everything he needed wrapped into one disarmingly handsome package, capable of understanding him on a level nobody else could.

Quentin Beck had actually started to fill the void left behind by Tony Stark, and Peter really needed to admit it to himself that the man had really hooked him from hello.


	2. Seven Hours Too Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight hours is way too long for Peter Parker to be left alone in a hotel room with nothing but his thoughts.
> 
> But hey, that's plenty of time to do a little research.
> 
> And it's plenty of time to think maybe a little too much about how completely, utterly fucked he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OR I kind of turned this into something that actually resembles a fic, oops? 
> 
> Shout out to my co-writer KuroAoki! He's my own personal Beck and only mine, you can't have him. I'll fight you.

Berlin.

Honestly, it was the last place Peter expected to be after the abrupt end to his school trip in Prague, and yet here he was, peering out the window of yet another European hotel room, watching Beck down below get into the car that was waiting for him. Beck, in his stupidly well cut suit that complimented the blue of his eyes a little _ too _ well, fitting in as flawlessly as if he'd lived here all his life. He knew it had something to do with the man's inexplicable charm, the sharpness of the smile that made his stomach do that little flip whenever it was directed his way, but he had to admit that he was a little jealous of how easily Beck played the role. He bit his lip as the car drove off, worrying it between his teeth as he let the curtain fall closed and turned away from the window to the pristine room with its double queen beds still freshly made and untouched.

God he wanted to just flop on one of them, but the distinctly _ weird _ feeling of something running down the back of his thigh reminded him of exactly how he got here. At least there wasn't anybody here now to see the blush that crept up the back of his neck to his ears, spreading to his cheeks. _ Right_.

_ Peter, it's me, uncle Beck! May sent me to pick you up. _

The last person he'd thought he would see at the airport after getting through security, heading up the rear of his class group with Ned on their way to the terminal. He winced at the expression that must have crossed his face at the sound of Beck's voice over the din of the airport, the flash of that smile, _ the suit_. Jesus Christ. When the man had told him that it was on Fury's orders that he was here to maybe convince him to join them in Berlin, it had been too hard to say no, and so he hadn't, and no matter how much he'd wanted to be annoyed, he really couldn't be. Even though he knew perfectly well that the rumors would be flying, and it was already hard enough to keep his mouth shut about last night to his best friend, but what was he supposed to say? _ Hey, Ned, I hooked up with Mysterio at the bar after we saved you guys, oh and then again in the hotel, oh and also he totally asked me out. _ He really didn't think he was ready to bury himself in that particular hole just yet, even if it hurt a little to fend off Ned's frantic texts asking for deets with a little white lie about it just being superhero stuff.

_At least we don't have to pretend_ _here. _

Peter remembered the look Beck gave him once the cabin door shut and they were alone, altogether too suggestive for his raging hormones. He really hadn't had a chance, and the subtle ache in his shoulders and thighs was a great reminder of that as he stretched, peeling off his shirt and tossing it next to his suitcase at the foot of one of the beds. He didn't know what it was about Beck that got to him so bad, not just in one way but so, so many. He really liked the guy, had liked him from the moment he'd met him, he just hadn't realized the _ way _ he liked him. And once Beck had torn that secret envelope wide open, he was just drowning in every look, every touch, every word. _ Hopeless_. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair and looking at himself in the mirror, flushing further at the marks that peppered his skin. God it was good he healed fast, there'd be no way he could hide all of those! They were really going to have to talk about that.

Shaking his head, he turned on the shower, kicking his shoes off back into the room and tugging off his socks. If every movement was anything to go by, his boxers were going to be a complete mess, and he pressed his lips together into a thin line, preparing himself for that new level of embarrassment. And sure enough, easing out of his pants and boxers, Peter cringed a little at the wetness of the thin fabric dragging against his legs. _ Gross_. This really brought a whole new meaning to being _ sticky _, and he drove the heels of his palms against his eyes for even thinking something that corny.

_ Don't worry Mister Beck. _

How proud of himself he'd felt in that moment, the way he'd grinned at Beck, giddy as his fingers brushed the ceiling of the plane and anchored there.

_ I'm _ ** _really_ ** _ sticky. _

Proven by the way he'd flipped up onto the ceiling, a cocky little protest to being told to sit down as they taxied. How the man had just casually brushed it off and Peter had been forced to drag him forward and keep him there with a kiss just to spit in the face of the gravity of the jet's takeoff.

Beck had _ liked _ that, and he smiled a little to himself despite the state he was in, slipping into the shower and groaning at the way the heat immediately started to sink deep into every ache. He took his time getting clean, luxuriating with the knowledge that he didn't have anywhere to be, didn't have anyone to save, didn't have a single obligation today. It felt like an eternity that he spent under the water, but when he finally stepped out into the chill of the room again, rubbing the towel over his hair, he groaned for a different reason at the clock that told him he'd only actually been in there for fifteen minutes. Pulling on a pair of pj pants and a completely oversized shirt, he attempted to mentally prepare himself for however long Beck was going to be gone. He had the TV, he had his phone, he would be fine, right?

_ Sure_.

It wasn't long before Peter had every pillow in the room piled up on one of the beds, absentmindedly flipping through channels on the television and almost guiltily browsing the list of pay to view movies. 

Nope. Definitely not going to order German dungeon porn.

With a frustrated sound, he cut off the TV, tossing the remote onto the nightstand between the two beds and flopping back gracelessly into his pillow pile. Rubbing his hands over his face, he sighed, changing gears to his phone to make sure everybody who cared knew where he was and that he was okay. Well. More than okay, but they didn't need to know that part, he thought, coloring a little as he shifted onto his side. What time was it back home anyway? He noted the half a dozen texts from Ned, focusing on those first just to kill time. Yes, that was Mysterio at the airport, no there wasn't another attack, yes he was fine, no Mysterio didn't kidnap him, it was just superhero stuff, yeah Fury pretty much made him go, yes he'd be back before school started up again. Sometimes dealing with his best friend was exhausting, but Peter really didn't know what he'd do without Ned, even if he wasn't actually sure how the guy managed to keep his secret despite being inexplicably worse at telling believable cover stories than anyone he'd ever met. And that was including himself.

That done, he rang May once, twice, left her a voicemail just to make sure she knew he was okay and where he was and what was going on. Hitting the end of the recording limit, he cursed, called her back and left another one. Fingers tapping at his screen just to be moving, he chewed on his lip before calling Happy and leaving him a voicemail, too. There. Now everyone knew he was fine, and he could relax a little. _ Relax_. He looked over at the clock.

It had only been twenty more minutes.

He chucked a pillow across the room in frustration, going after it immediately and actually apologizing to nobody before shaking his head at himself and looking over the room service menu. Lunch would be good, and he picked something simple, called down, and flopped back onto the bed with his retrieved pillow to stare at the ceiling. This was going to be a really, really long day, wasn't it? Beck hadn't even said how long he was going to be gone, but knowing what little he did about Nick Fury, he couldn't imagine it was going to be a short meeting. He really hoped the man wasn't getting flak for him not coming along. Oh, he could hear the disappointment, or maybe Fury would just act as if it was just as he expected.

_ Kid didn't step up after all, surprise, surprise. _

And maybe Beck would make some kind of excuse for him. They hadn't really talked about that at all, and really there wasn't actually a good reason as to why he didn't just go since he was here already, but-

The knock on the door startled Peter out of his thoughts, and his stomach growled, helpfully alerting him to its existence as he hopped off the bed to retrieve his lunch from room service. Nothing really fancy, but it was food, and he pretty much inhaled it when he realized how much of an appetite he'd worked up on the plane. _ Hell of an appetite, you bet_. He rubbed his hands over his face again, pushing his fingers through his hair. He very, very pointedly ignored the little twitch of his dick at that thought, plate shoved aside as he again checked the time.

By the end of the second hour, he'd familiarized himself with every nook and cranny of the entire room, including checking the corners of the ceiling for hidden cameras (that kind of thing could happen in places like Germany, right?). He was almost literally bouncing off the walls, having a conversation with nobody as he rolled across the room in the fancy swiveling desk chair, that little pencil they kept with the notepad by the phone balanced between his upper lip and his nose. Staring at his phone, he squinted, just willing it to buzz, _ anything_. He was pretty sure he was going to lose his mind cooped up in here all day.

It only took exactly two hours and thirteen minutes before he gave in to curiosity and reached over, plucking the pair of glasses off the nightstand and slipping them on as he settled back into his nest of pillows, taking in a breath and letting all of his anxious energy out with it.

"Hey, EDITH," he chirped, still feeling a bit of a rush when the display lit up, the AI's voice greeting him. "Can you give me another run down of what you can do?"

_ "Of course, Peter." _

At least it would keep his mind occupied for however long it would be before Beck came back, or so he thought. And to her credit, EDITH managed to keep his thoughts from drifting back to the plane, and everything that happened between him and Beck, for all of two hours. It wasn't as if reviewing a detailed list of Tony's protocols and EDITH's features was _ boring _ , because it was far from that, but a lot had happened since last night and Peter really hadn't actually _ processed _ any of it yet. He'd actually been unintentionally _ avoiding _ processing it, he realized, cuing EDITH to put a bookmark in the manual so to speak as he made the decision to actually dig into the fact that he’d gone from meeting Quentin Beck to giving him his v-card in less than 48 hours. There’s a lot to unpack. _ Jumping in with both feet, here we go, go big or go home_. He rubbed his hands together, trying to get himself psyched for it like it was his first time ever fantasizing about anything, which definitely wasn't true, and yet...

None of what had happened had really been on his fap reel before.

_ That's not fair, you're not fair. _

He'd meant it, because even when he just thought about the way Beck looked at him Peter could feel a little jolt of arousal, so he started his exploratory checklist there. _ Today on clinically examining what turns you on _ he thought, rolling his eyes as he chewed at his bottom lip. It was more than just processing it for himself, because he really _ liked _ Beck, like a lot, he realized, and he really did want to be better than just a stupid virgin stumbling through every aspect of learning about his sexuality so he could give back maybe even half as good as he was getting. _ Well_. Not a virgin _ anymore_. He stopped his hand just as it slipped under the hem of his shirt, fingers splayed against his belly where the heat was starting to coil. Letting his eyes fall closed on a mostly steady exhale, he counted the tugging of his hair and the eventual harder pull as one check, the thrill of clearly taking Beck by surprise as another. He checked off the rush of sliding into Beck's lap and how immediately that turned up the heat, the hungry way Beck kissed him, the abrasive feeling of Beck's beard against his skin (everywhere). Peter's hand was already in his pants by the time he checked off the next item on the list.

_ Yes, sir. _

And it had made the man _ ravenous_, the intensity of nails dragging down his back like fire lighting up his nerves, the crushing kiss, all of it. Another check for mild to moderate pain, and another for the way the burn of shame coursing through him only made it better. Peter was hard just at the memory of how Beck's clothed cock felt against his ass, grinding hard as if trying to bury himself inside before even getting out of their pants. He shifted a little, shimmying out of his pj pants and hissing as the cool air hit heated flesh. The idea that Beck could come back at any moment and find him like this was another solid check, and he whimpered a little, thumb slicking the drop of precome that thought elicited over the flushed head of his dick. Pushing his free hand up over his face, his fingers caught on the glasses, and he dropped them to the side, flopping his forearm over his eyes. He thought about the way Beck had left the already fading trail of marks up his neck, leaving fire in his wake, thought he might like it if the man bit harder.

_ God, I wanna fuck you. _

_ How badly do you want me, Peter? _

_ Please, _ ** _what_**_? _

Beck had coaxed and dragged every base confession out of him the entire time, made him say it in as many words as he could articulate, because Beck was observant, Beck was _ smart_. Beck knew it was exactly what Peter wanted even before he realized he wanted it himself. His hand tightened around his cock, hips pushing up against his own grip on a moan as his toes curled into the duvet. He mouthed the words, felt the heat rise rapidly to his face as he slowly fucked his fist, remembering the praise and how twisted it was that he liked that too.

_ I want you to fuck me- please- _

_ That's my good boy. _

God, Peter knew he was going to make a mess if he kept this up here, and as much as the idea of Beck coming back and finding it might have made him twitch in his hand, there was another part of him that wanted to hide it, wanted to just hint at it until the man once again dragged the truth out of him. He bit his lip hard, forcing his hips to still as he removed his hand with a strangled groan, panting lightly, trying to school his breathing. Peeling off his shirt and letting it join his pants at the foot of the bed, he swung his legs over the side, staring down Beck's bag sitting innocuously across from him.

_Oh_ **_God_**_-_

He slipped off the edge of the bed, chewing on his lip as he approached the bag, remembering with a stunning clarity the way it felt when he'd been pushed to orgasm just by Beck pushing his _ tongue- _ He dragged his hand over his face with a shaky breath, fingers trembling on the first zipper he picked. A lucky guess, since it happened to be the one he'd been looking for, which in hindsight was probably a really good thing considering he didn't exactly want to dig through all of Beck's possessions just to find the bottle of lube. His nerves were buzzing for more than one reason, least of all because he was about to, as his mind helpfully supplied, _ embark upon an incredible journey of self exploration and discovery_. Not that he hadn't been doing that already, he thought, quietly moaning over the fact that his other hand, as traitorous as the one that clung to the bottle, refused to leave his dick alone. 

Right. Shower.

It was the best place to do this cleanly, he reasoned, considering the mess he was pretty sure he was going to be when he was done. The floor was cold against his bare feet, raising goosebumps all up his legs and down his arms, and he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he waited for the shower to heat up, pupils blown wide and expression unfamiliar levels of _ need _ and _ shame_. _ Fuck_. Peter slid his hand quick up the length of his cock to catch the dribble of precome that image produced as he willed the water to heat up faster, toying with the lid of the bottle in his hand like a lifeline or a curse. Just because the bathroom floor was cold against his feet did not mean he was getting _ cold feet _. With everything he'd done since yesterday, it was crazy to even be hesitant at this point, silly to be nervous, ridiculous to have the slightest inclination not to do what he was about to do.

_ C'mon Peter, you're just going to do what he did since it blew your fucking mind. _

When he stepped into the shower it was almost _ too _ hot on his already heated skin, but he tipped his head back into the spray anyway, pushed his hand through his hair to slick it back before wiping the water from his face with a heavy breath. Nodding to himself as if that made a bit of difference, he backed himself up against the shower wall, slid down to the floor and shuddered as he flicked open the bottle.

_ Still want me to fuck you, Peter? _

He'd begged for it, every step of the way, and here he was, ears burning and lip held almost too tight between his teeth as he teased himself with slick fingers, following along with the memory. Agonizingly slow, Beck had been careful, but he was still loose from before, and his head fell back against the wall with a thunk at how _ easily _ the first two fingers just slid right in. The angle was a little awkward, but Peter was flexible, and he shifted until he couldn't push any deeper, licking water off his abused lip as he added a third, started to realize and appreciate how much self control Beck had to feel what he was feeling now and still take his time. Already his breaths were coming shallower, quicker as he worked himself on his fingers, stretching, searching, _ there- _

_ Fuck- do that again- _

Nowhere near as intense as when Beck had done it, and it still had Peter teetering on the edge, forgetting that there was a point to all this _ besides _ getting off as he pushed his hips down hard against his own hand. _ Shit _ he'd been right when he'd realized he wasn't going to be able to _ not _ do this to himself now, fingers wrapping tight around the base of his dick as if he could hold off the inevitable. Unlike all the restraint that Beck had, he was still just a novice, just a horny teenager without any real sense of delayed gratification, and true to that, a fourth finger joined the other three, making it that much more like the feeling of getting absolutely _ impaled_.

_ How's it feel, Peter? You like getting split open by my cock? _

"_Yes-_" was gasped out to the ceiling, an unnecessary answer that just added to the fantasy. He'd never felt anything like it, never thought anything could feel as incredible, and he fucked himself on his fingers like amateur hour to the memory of his own screams as Beck completely _ wrecked _ him. He'd asked, begged for it harder, and Beck had obliged, made him sob out words he couldn't even remember, made him forget his own name, where he was, which way was up. He couldn't even get close to that feeling on his own, but the hand on his cock worked into the rhythm of his hips, fingers hitting deep as he moaned a plea to nobody, cursed, found that spot again and choked.

_ You gave this to me, Peter. Does this mean you're mine? _

_ Yes, yes I'm yours, I'm yours Mister Beck, please, please- _Head hitting the floor, locked in an almost painful arch, Peter finished on a cry. He only realized he'd ended up on his back when he felt the hot splatter of his own come hitting as far up as his throat, dripping down the side of his neck, the force of his orgasm all but pushing his own fingers out for him. His chest heaved as he just stayed there, brain a scrambled mess as he floated on the euphoria and stared unseeing at the ceiling while the water pelted his legs.

Oh he was so, _ so _ fucked, he realized once his thoughts started to coalesce into something remotely coherent again. Less than twenty four hours and he'd readily, willingly given Beck every first he could think of, wanted to keep on giving them if they were there to take. He remembered the last kiss on the plane, the understanding in the blue eyes that looked a little warmer every time they looked at him. That moment of raw openness, the unspoken pain of loss, the weight of the feelings that tried to suffocate him and were trying again now as he pulled himself up off the shower floor.

_ We'll be okay, right? _

_ Yeah, Peter. We'll be okay. _

He wanted to give Beck _ everything_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes hello I didn't mean to it just happened. You know when you just vomit out almost four thousand words? Yeah. I mean you get it, right?


	3. Too Worn out to Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least this wasn't an unpleasant way to spend a few hours not being able to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took a while because I wrote a totally different third chapter but it was way too much like a summary of the RP and kind of felt like that so I scrapped it and replaced it with this! And like two more chapters to cover that material that I'll be working on soon. WOO.
> 
> As always, Beck's lines, actions, and any unheard motivations are courtesy of my handsome friend KuroAoki.

The clock on the bedside table read 1:37am, and Peter was wide awake, even though he was curled up comfortably against Beck’s sleeping form. It wasn’t because of nightmares this time, and it wasn’t because of any discomfort, but insomnia could still be a bit of a bitch it seemed. At least tonight he had something to keep himself occupied and calm, replaying the way his night ended as he watched the sleeping man next to him with a small smile. A part of him wondered if this was _ weird_, but it was nice to see how peaceful Beck was, after everything he’d been through. It was definitely a well deserved rest, and Peter was happy to be able to give that to him.

Maybe it was the promise of _ Paris _ in the morning that kept him awake, because he was still reeling over the fact that a night that had started with a _ pillow fight _ had ended the way it did. Beck had looked so tired when he’d gotten back, Peter really hadn’t expected anything to happen, even after their epic plush battle had ended in a draw with him staring the man down from his perch on the wall while Beck stood on the bed brandishing not one but _ two _ pillows. It had certainly done wonders for his excess energy, but somehow that just seemed to rub off on Beck, and they’d decided on a truce in order to call up room service.

Peter had been caught staring like a dazed, lovesick schoolboy over dinner, probably kind of what he looked like right about now as his gaze drifted along the line of Beck’s jaw, up and over the relaxed and subtle arch of thick brows. He couldn’t really get over how intense the man’s eyelashes were, he thought, only accentuating the blue of those eyes that always drew him in.

_ Are you sure you were only _ ** _reading_ ** _ while I was gone, Peter?_

** _Mostly_ ** _ reading._

_ What besides reading requires you to take another shower, Peter? Did it have anything to do with... missing me, perhaps?_

_ ...Maybe... _

_Is maybe spelled y-e-s? _

_I'm pretty sure it's spelled _ ** _m-a-y-b-e_ ** _ , Mister Beck. _

Peter had to stifle a laugh at the memory of how that had started, didn’t want to actually wake Beck up by accident. Even with that teasing conversation, with the day they’d both had he still hadn’t expected anything, but when he’d gotten caught in Beck’s eyes again and the man had bluntly asked him if he wanted to kiss him and well. _ Obviously_. Ever since Peter had instigated the first time, he hadn’t really _ stopped _ wanting to kiss Beck. The thought scared the shit out of him, really, and he shifted, reaching up and brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen into the man’s face as he slept.

During that kiss had been when he’d really started to understand just how much he wanted all this, and he’d almost panicked because of the realization of how much he didn’t want to _ lose _ it and how afraid he was that he _ would_. Honestly, he was still scared now, even with the way Beck’s breath ghosted over him, steady and even, even with the weight of the man’s arm draped over his side.

_ I wouldn't be here if I didn't like you, if I didn't want to _ ** _be_ ** _ with you. It's not exactly risk free, you and me. Don't think I'd be making this choice lightly. _ ** _Trust me_**_, Peter. I want this. I want you._

_ I _ ** _do_ ** _ trust you... I trust you Mister Beck and that scares me, I'm just a kid, I'm awkward and I don't know what I'm doing and I _ ** _really like you_ ** _ like _ ** _a lot_ ** _ and I don't get what you see in a kid like me but I want this too and it really scares me to think you'll just change your mind- _

And Beck had cut him off, reassured him, told him that he was _ brilliant, funny, an incredible fighter_, said _ I just really like you _ and it had resonated with the way the man had said _ I like you too much _ and _ does this mean you’re mine_. It had sent Peter’s thoughts soaring, heart pounding in his chest, and even now he felt the way the warmth of it worked through him. These moments were kind of indulgent of him, even if he wasn’t exactly willing to admit why yet, because as much as he trusted Beck, he didn’t really trust his own track record. And yet.

_ ...Do you really think I'm funny?_

_ Yeah, Peter. I do. There's a lot about you I find attractive. _

_Told you I’m sticky so I guess you’re stuck. _

Even now Peter could just cringe at how lame that was, but hey, Beck had said he was funny, and he’d gotten a good reaction out of it. Worth it to have the man pull him closer, to hear how Beck couldn’t get enough of him. And for all the teasing conversation earlier, for all his avoidance, he’d just up and blurted it out.

_ I had to take a shower earlier because I couldn't stop thinking about you and I had to do something about it- _

Shifting at the memory of the admission, he flushed, knowing that continuing in his reminiscing was just asking for a problem he wouldn’t be able to solve without the risk of waking Beck up. Still, Peter bit his lip, debating whether or not this could be an exercise in restraint as he lightly ran his fingers through the man’s hair. Letting out a breath of relief when Beck didn’t even stir, he boldly but so slowly drew his palm down between them, over that toned chest. Okay this was probably definitely getting weird, and he could feel his face heat up, pulling his hand back and carefully rolling over in Beck’s arms, settling back into the curve of his body with a comfortable sigh.

It didn’t exactly make it easier to _ not _ think about earlier that night, not with Beck’s breath steadily ghosting down the back of his neck and making him shiver. Good thing the man seemed to be a heavy sleeper, he thought, trying his best to settle his mind so he could get back to sleep. Like this, though? He couldn’t help but think about being up on his knees, held upright and back against the heat of Beck’s body as they rocked together, unhurried until Peter happened to spot their reflection in the mirror over the desk across from the bed. He’d been bold, caught up in the moment, the heat and the _ intimacy _ of it, had dragged Beck into watching him watch himself come, and he had to bite his knuckle to try and keep his focus when that image came to mind.

_ Breathe in, breathe out, cold showers, Aunt May in a cellulose mask, the street smell on trash day, whew, okay. _

And then, circling back to the actual reason Peter was probably still awake.

_ Do you like crepes? _

_ I just figured they’d be pretty good in Paris. Or so I’ve been told. _

It had taken Peter a moment there to realize what was being insinuated, but when he had -- It brought a grin to his face, making him snuggle back against Beck a little more. It was that excitement that hung on and made it hard for him to sleep, even though he’d been thoroughly fucked twice in the same day, his first two times even. Even though Beck had finished off the night by _ eating his own come out of Peter’s ass _ and then giving him a blowjob. God. _ God_. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, admirable in how well he resisted the urge to shove his hand down his pants right there with Beck sleeping against his back. His utter embarrassment at the idea of the man waking up in the middle of it and the true want to let him sleep were the only two things keeping Peter from acting on that urge.

God though.

_ Paris_.

Beck had asked him out on a date for crepes _ in Paris_.

They were going to Paris.

He wasn’t even thinking about how fast this was going, too swept up in it to care.

All he really wanted right now was to be right where he was, _ with Beck_.

Because with Beck he actually felt _ safe_.

Peter already didn’t know what he’d do without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on Peter Parker catches the feels: Quentin Beck possibly also catches the feels.


	4. You're my What Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris might be pretty, but there's something that's been bothering Peter since they left Berlin.
> 
> All it takes is clarification for him to understand which WAY it's bothering him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes hello I wrote this way fast but then second guessed myself for like a week and am making an attempt at breaking at least SOME of it out of Peter's ruminations.
> 
> Beck as always by the wonderful Kuro~

_ Paris_.

It was there, just on the other side of the train window that Peter was staring out of, foot tapping against Beck’s a little because it was the only contact he could really get away with without arousing suspicion. After all, the fake passport they’d had to pick up earlier to make sure he could get through customs as a minor had made his role in their public charade pretty damn clear.

_ Penny for your thoughts, son? _

The passport had his name printed right there, and Beck had clarified what the act was supposed to be on their way to the airport from the hotel in Berlin. _ Peter Beck _ was Quentin Beck’s _ son_. It made him distinctly uncomfortable, but he still wasn’t entirely sure if it was in a bad way, chewing on his lip as he let his mind wander on the hour long train ride to their final destination. Bad enough that he’d had to play it cool the entire time they waited at the airport, the two hour plane ride, and now the train, but Beck hadn’t at all made it easy for him the whole way.

Catching the man’s reflection in the glass as the train passed through a shadow, Peter’s eyes darkened behind the sunglasses he’d been given to cover up just how utterly wrecked he’d looked that morning. Sinking a little in his seat, he kept his gaze pointedly toward the window, even if he made every effort to observe Beck’s profile as much as he did the landscape. Of course, that was the _ other thing_, because perched upon Beck’s nose as if made for him were Tony Stark’s glasses, and didn’t that just complicate _ everything_?

_ To look cool, _ Beck had said as he’d handed Peter his sunglasses. _ And, y’know. Not like you were crying or choking on my dick. _

Thumb rubbing at his bottom lip, Peter could still remember the tingling feeling, the ache in his jaw and the nearly numb feeling of his tongue. Because crying and choking on Beck’s dick was exactly what he had been doing, right before the man had made him make a show of getting himself off. He could still feel Beck’s tongue and the heat of his mouth cleaning come off his fingers, and those fingers twitched against where they rested at the base of the train’s window. God Paris was pretty, wasn’t it?

_ On a scale of one to loser how do I look? _

Beck had liked it, clearly, but Peter had felt the need to reciprocate the favor. The dark sunglasses covered up his red rimmed eyes, but Beck’s eyes were so blue, undoubtedly more sensitive to the sun, and though he didn’t have any darker sunglasses, Peter did have EDITH. It had been an impulsive idea, but as soon as the man had slipped them on, it had been like getting sideswiped by a bullet train.

_ They look- _

_(I trust you.) _

_ (I wanted you to be better.) _

_ (I’m sorry...) _

_ (We did it Mister Stark, we won...) _

_ They look really good on you. R-really good, y’know- I think- _

He’d thought Beck deserved them, and even now Peter had to fight the lump in his throat, because the way Beck had followed that still made him overlay Tony in the reflection on the train window.

_ I know I’m handsome, kid, and it’s touching, really, that you’re so moved by it. _

It had sounded like something Tony would’ve said, and he’d been crying before he knew it, ashamed and embarrassed at that fact and only pulled out of it by Beck’s lips on his. He watched the way the man’s eyes flitted over whatever was on his phone in the reflection, taking another steadying breath to make sure he didn’t fall back into it again. He’d clung so hard, kissed like it was the only thing keeping him sane, and maybe it had been. Beck had held him and it had felt like Tony Stark come back to life before it all fell apart, and even now he had to push aside the parallels, because how awkward was it to think about your dead father figure when you were sitting next to your boyfriend who was making you think of your dead father figure?

Peter clenched his eyes shut, trying to shake that comparison right then, because he absolutely did not need that parallel swimming around with the rest of his thoughts from that morning. Like when they’d gotten to the airport, and Beck had finally given him his number. He thought about meeting Beck’s dog, Pixel, named so in memory of the cat he had on his world named Dot. He thought about the fact that Beck had been here since the blip ended, had an apartment in New York, had already picked out enough music he liked to make a playlist which Peter had insisted on listening to. The most frustrating part of that text conversation, however, had been the last few messages.

_ [People might object to a little daddy-son make-out session, and I could live with that if it weren't for the high likelihood of it blowing our cover.]_

_ [Yeah that's too bad] _

_ [Guess I'll have to wait.] _

_[Guess you will.] _

And it was that one word thrown in there alongside all of Beck’s other subtle cues that had Peter still turning it over in his head. _ Daddy_. He wasn’t stupid, he knew enough to understand the connotation, but the man was being a little _ too _ subtle about it for him to really be positive whether or not that was intentional. It did give him a lot to think about as the scenery flew by, just one more thing he had to mull over on his quickly growing list of _ Things Peter Parker Finds Arousing. _ Really, that was what made it the most awkward that he was already publicly having to pretend to be Beck’s son, and that just made him circle right back around to Tony and EDITH and he had to pinch the bridge of his nose, breathing out a sigh against the glass.

Sure, he could just _ ask_, but how embarrassing would that be? _ Hey, Mister Beck when you said daddy were you trying to be kinky with me? _ Yeah. No. Out of the question, and Peter was startled out of his thoughts by the train stopping. That hour had gone by both incredibly fast and incredibly slow, and though the walk from the station to their hotel was short, he still had to take in all the sights along the way in order to keep his mind occupied.

He fidgeted while Beck spoke to the concierge about their room and some things in French he couldn’t pick up on, but then the awkwardness was ramped up to twelve as he was pulled in close and brought into the conversation.

“Isn't that right, kid? Excited to be here with me?” Beck asked him, and his mind just sort of blanked out.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” he managed, nerves clearly showing, though he hoped it would be passable as him just being an awkward, shy teenager rather than raise suspicion. The man on the other side of the counter looked at him with a friendly customer service smile, and he wanted to sink into the floor right then and there.

“Is this the first time traveling abroad with your father?” the man asked, and Peter really, really wanted a hole to open up at his feet for the way he couldn’t stop the obvious flicker of _ panic _ that crossed his features. But Beck squeezed his shoulder, and he wasn’t sure if that was helpful or making it worse.

“Y-yeah... It's pretty cool...” was all he managed to choke out after that, anxiety through the roof as his gaze darted around to find some kind of an excuse to get out of there before he totally blew it. He zeroed in on the room keys and immediately snatched one up, pulling back from Beck’s touch on his shoulder and gesturing over his own toward the elevators before spewing out the single most difficult line he could ever remember saying.

“Hey Dad I’m gonna go on up, that okay?”

Muttering an apology to the concierge, he spun on his heel and booked it to the elevator bay at a power walk before the heat creeping up the back of his neck became painfully obvious. He didn’t even give Beck the chance to answer him, either, which just doubled the embarrassment when the man walked up behind him before the elevator had even made it down to the lobby. Beck was close, _ too _ close, and Peter could actually _ hear _ the smile in the man’s voice as their shoulders bumped against each other.

“Decided to wait up for your daddy after all? Such a good boy.”

Throat going dry, it was all the confirmation Peter needed that yes, Beck’s wording had been _ very _ purposeful, and he _ had _ read it right. He felt like he should have had a more averse reaction to that, but he most definitely _ did not_.

As the elevator doors opened and Beck crowded him in, reaching over his shoulder to push the button for their floor, he felt like he was on fire, face burning up and all the pent up frustration he’d kept in check since the morning rushing back in a flood of hormones.

Peter could see the way the man’s lips spread into a grin in the reflection of the doors as they closed, and he swallowed hard, knowing that the ride up was going to be his undoing.

And yet if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that as soon as they got to that damn room, Beck _ was _ going to take him apart.

Peter intended to make sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I may be sorry not sorry for that cliffhanger. Maybe.
> 
> PS is this format working for people? Like, is it too much "recap" sounding or...? Because I've gotten criticism on it and I just want to know if this kind of thing is working or not cause it may determine the future of how I publish this story?? I know I feel like it's okay, but what do you guys think about it?


	5. Tour de Force en France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had a _plan_, and it didn’t exactly have anything to do with getting caught reminiscing about the bruises on his throat caused by the way he’d pressed it into Daddy’s hand as he came the third time. Even if he did take the opportunity to admire them while he brushed his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes hello I am so sorry it's been so long, I was kind of in a slump! There is so much content in the RP for this it's drowning me, but I'm finally working out the kinks (and _how_) and figuring out how to lay this out en route to the end of this odd little "honeymoon phase" these two are going through. I'm not quite sure it's the end of an ARC, but if Tony were alive he'd probably need more than just an arc reactor to keep his heart from stopping at everything Peter is getting up to.

They’d barely gotten the door open before Peter had dragged Beck through it and proceeded to trap himself right up against it as it shut, holding the man’s body firmly against his and making it fully known the effect all of that had on him. He’d thought that he would make Beck’s job difficult, that he would make the man work for it, stubbornly refusing to utter the word they both knew had been coming all morning. Eyes lighting on the rumpled bed, the paused movie on the TV, and the dried come that had dripped down the window, he considered how utterly wrong he’d been.

_I’m really sorry, Sir_, he’d said (because the moment he’d tried to be defiant Beck had done the one thing guaranteed to get him to bend; he stopped touching him), _ but it’s hard to follow the rules when you don’t know what they are._

Peter dropped the shopping bag at his feet in much the same way he’d dropped his luggage hours earlier, taking a moment and leaning back against the door, going over it in his head. God it was going to be difficult to keep his cock quiet for the next hour, he knew it as he dropped his head back, took a deep breath and pushed off, the whisper of the words sending a shiver down his spine.

_ I'm only asking for two things, Peter. Courtesy. _ ** _Yes_**_, daddy. _ ** _No_**_, daddy. _ ** _Please_**_, daddy. And obedience. You can do that, can't you, Peter? _

Oh yes. Yes he could, and he had, and he was going to do it again and again, of that he was certain. It was hard to be shy once he’d debased himself so thoroughly, but his cheeks still tinged pink as he glanced at the window, shucking off his borrowed jacket and heading to the bathroom. He’d lost all sense of time the moment the words _ yes, Daddy _ had first slipped past his lips in a breathless whisper, and it had become something he could only remember in orgasms. _ Three of them_. At least for that scene. Drawing his hand down his face, Peter wet a washcloth at the sink, wrung it out and moved to the window. Beck was downstairs waiting, but it was still light out, and he could keep him waiting a little longer for this.

He dropped down to his knees by the glass, using the damp cloth to scrub away the evidence of his first release as he looked out over the city, thought about the way he’d slipped up and begged too soon. He’d earned a swift smack to his ass for that, the first time he’d _ really _ been hit, and things had only devolved into madness from there. As he wiped away the last of his come from the window, he stood, eyes focusing on his reflection in the glass. Lips ticking up in a smile, he turned away, taking the cloth back to the bathroom and peeling off his shirt on the way. His shoes, socks, and pants followed, discarded in a pile as he palmed his half hard dick through his boxers, just to scratch the itch a little.

Their date to the Eiffel Tower was after this, and Peter wanted to be extra prepared for that, though he didn’t want to take so long that Beck started getting antsy and ended up coming up in the middle of him getting ready. Oh no, that wouldn’t do at all. He had a _ plan_, and it didn’t exactly have anything to do with getting caught reminiscing about the bruises on his throat caused by the way he’d pressed it into Daddy’s hand as he came the third time. Even if he did take the opportunity to admire them while he brushed his teeth.

Up until _Daddy _had moved EDITH off of his face and _Beck_ was back asking Peter if he’d brought him a postcard, it had been a blur of pleasure so intense he was honestly surprised he didn’t pass out, but he had cried, embarrassingly enough.

_Greetings from Paris _ he’d said, and Beck had carried him to the bed and taken care of him, getting him off a fourth time while he pressed his lips so tenderly against the bruises on his throat.

_ You spoil me, Peter. _

_ You just make me feel like I belong. _

_You give me so much._

Peter’s chest tightened considerably, ached and swelled as he touched his fingers to the marks, felt the tenderness of his flesh, made his way out of the bathroom and toward the bag he’d left at the door. He needed to get changed, look like an adult enough that they could go back out in public again without turning heads, but as he pulled on his pants, he still got caught up in the memories, still so fresh. He felt _ so much_, he’d been choked with it, afraid to open his mouth because he’d say something stupid, ruin everything, the words right there on the tip of his tongue and held back by a string anchored in his throat. This whole thing scared him, so much, the depth of his feelings terrifying and breathtaking and enough to make him pause to steady himself once again.

_You're honestly the best thing that's happened to me since-_

_I like you a lot more than I probably should. In case that wasn't obvious._

Chewing on his lip, he pulled on his socks, dragged the bag to the edge of the bed and pulled out the new shoes Beck had picked out, too. Luckily, the mattress was big enough he could avoid any of the other soiled spots, because it really wouldn’t do to walk out of here in his brand new _ grown up clothes _ with a come stain on his ass, would it? Peter laughed at himself, reaching for the discarded remote once his shoes were on and turning off the TV. He flushed at the memory of the conversation surrounding the characters (and the unnervingly parallel plot of a hot older man and a teenager falling in love in Italy), Beck probing him into seriously contemplating his sexuality. _ Gay panic _ he’d called it, and God but that sounded stupid. Shaking his head, he pulled out the turtleneck he’d decided on to make sure the marks on his throat were covered.

With a wistful sigh, Peter pulled the shirt on, even if it might be a little warm for the weather. He was pretty sure that it would suit for the top of the Eiffel Tower at night, though, crossing the room once more to the bathroom so he could fix his hair into some semblance of _ I’m an adult I swear _. It took him long enough to fight with it that he had plenty of time to remember finding the bruises on Beck’s wrists in the shower while he’d been admiring the rest of his handiwork. He’d apologized, but the man had insisted he was fine, and really, with the way Beck had looked under him while he pinned him to the mattress and rode that cock _hard_ until they both came again seemed to indicate he was more than just _fine._

It was undeniable. Peter was absolutely addicted. He’d gripped Beck’s hands as hard as his wrists, felt _ possessive _ for the first time, and he knelt by his discarded clothes, digging in his pockets for his wallet, but more importantly...

Beck had held out his wedding band, and Peter had nearly swooned with the sudden stress.

_ Mind keeping track of this for me? Just realized it might draw more contrast if I present like a married man. _

_I can't- A-are you sure? What if-_

_What if I lose it?_

He turned the ring over in his fingers, heart clenching again. He knew what he was doing, knew it was the right choice, had known it since they left the hotel in Berlin. There was only one way to repay this level of trust, and it wasn’t just that, it was _ so much more_.

_You won't. I trust you to remember it's there. _

It was the increasingly obscene conversation in French and Italian over crepes in that little cafe, neither of them fully understanding the other but both of them catching enough of the gist to continue to escalate. It was Beck ending that conversation in no uncertain terms with the word _ sweetheart_. It was having outfits he’d never buy for himself picked out for him and showing them off like a model while Beck’s eyes darkened and he tried so hard to tempt the man to corner him in the dressing room.

It was kissing his boyfriend in public without worrying, stuck to his side the entire walk once they were clear of the view from the hotel lobby.

_I mean it though, you give me a sense of belonging. Similar as it is, this isn't my world. You make it feel like it could be._

_It can be! _

_I mean I want it to be- I mean if that's what you wanted because I know I can't really replace everything you lost, and I'm not trying to I mean I'm not assuming I'd be enough or anything I just-_

_I'm just glad that out of everywhere you could've ended up, you're here, and maybe that's selfish but I am..._

It was the look in Beck’s eyes when he said _ there is nowhere I’d rather be_, the feeling in his chest that stole his breath and made him feel like he was falling and flying at the same time. It was the fear and the safety and the certainty and the unknown all at once.

It was moaning _ Quentin _ when he came and the tiny little tendril of a dark thought he didn’t remember having as Beck’s wedding band had slipped off while he’d been pinning him and Peter had slipped it on his own finger without thinking, possessive. _ He’s mine now_, he’d thought, even though he hadn’t realized he'd thought it with how fleeting it had been. If he remembered, he’d be sick with himself for even momentarily thinking he was glad they were dead.

_I’m already yours, Peter_, Beck had said, as if he’d seen the wicked thought plain on his face, and maybe that just drove it all deeper into his psyche.

It was all that and still more than he could even think of. He just _ knew_.

Plucking EDITH from the bedside table, Peter slipped the glasses on, grabbing his new jacket and pulling it on over the turtleneck, giving himself a once over in the mirror and fussing with his hair a little more. He took a deep breath, heart hammering in his chest.

“Hey EDITH,” he began, waiting for the display to light up and the sound of her cheerful voice to reach his ears. He hesitated, nerves almost getting the better of him as the questions flew through his mind one after the other.

_What if he says no?_

_What if he gets mad?_

_What if-_

Before he could psych himself out of it, he let it all out in one breath.

“I want you to give full control to Quentin Beck.”

His heart nearly stopped, caught in his throat as she asked him for confirmation.

He didn’t hesitate at all before he gave it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it hasn't been made clear enough, the postcard joke from the first chapter has become one of their end scene cues, and Peter's ability to respond lets Beck know that he's come up out of it again.
> 
> Also a server I'm in is doing a Spiderio fic exchange so if you wanna join in or share it, go for it!  
https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSetdOS6CTXcAr3gUAhADcVZubat2SOI1Yunge7KxzDUiAEw_g/viewform?usp=sf_link


	6. In So Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s throat went dry, eyes wide as the implication of the act sank in and his heart ran with it. He was so _fucked_, hands shaking as he stepped forward in silence, thoughts racing. Oh, he was so in over his head, and he tried so hard to pull a face to cover up his terribly inappropriate, twisted wish that it weren’t just a joke. Aiming for _really, seriously dude?_ and falling horribly short, he slid the ring onto Beck’s finger with a sort of reverence he tried so hard to swallow down and not show, unable to meet the man’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES HELLO I am so sorry this took so long, I have zero excuse other than I guess a distressing amount of distraction. That being said, IT'S BACK. From this chapter onward we are also transitioning a little more into actual scene territory without so many flashbacks, so hold on to your seats!
> 
> And on that note, I'd like to remind everyone that my amazing co-author KuroAoki is also my amazing Beck, providing us all with that Gud Trash Man Content (that Peter doesn't even realize is garbage). ENJOY.
> 
> Also, please check out the end notes for a link to the absolutely incredible piece of commissioned fan art for the scene atop the Eiffel Tower!

Standing outside the liquor store, uncomfortable mess in his pants, Peter shoved his hands in his pockets, fingers toying with the gold band tucked safely away there. It felt as if his heart hadn’t stopped pounding since before he even left the hotel room to meet Beck’s approving gaze across the lobby. The man hadn’t even been able to wait two minutes, trapping him up against the wall just around the corner from the hotel, lips quirking at the memory.

_ How are you so fucking gorgeous? _

_ Radioactive spider bite. _

_ But seriously that’s gonna go to my head if you keep it up. _

Pulling his hands free, he made a valiant attempt at taming the mess of his hair, rubbing at the inside of his wrist where his one webshooter was settled. Everything had gone exactly according to plan, and even better, leaving him with a sense of euphoria now, of lightness, and so much affection he was practically drowning in it. He cast his gaze toward the lights of the Eiffel Tower, lingering at the uppermost observation deck, unable to stop his smile and the subtle blush creeping across his cheeks.

They’d watched the sun set from the top, lingered until they were nearly alone and his nerves had started to get the better of him. And then he’d proposed they go somewhere more private, mischief in his eyes as he’d flashed a glimpse of his webshooter and recognition had sparked in Beck’s eyes. He chewed on his lip as he thought about the way he’d swung them up to the maintenance level at the base of the spire, dragging the man into a kiss and using that disorientation for the final part of his plan.

Peter hadn’t thought past gently placing EDITH on Beck’s face before ending their kiss, activating her with a barely whispered _hey EDITH_ before he focused entirely on the man in front of him, breath held as she did her biometric scan the second blue eyes snapped open.

_ [Hello, Quentin.] _

Beck had pressed, made absolutely sure that he was sure, and Peter shivered at the thought of what he’d done next. A selfie to commemorate had turned into a dozen, each less appropriate than the last because he just hadn’t been able to help himself from being a little shit, until finally he’d challenged Beck to _ make him _ be good for a photo.

_ Not sure I want you to be good, _Beck had said, but had demanded it anyway, resulting in the only tame photo of the evening. God he’d been so wound up it had been hard just to not look _ wrecked _ for it, but it had been worth the growl of _ good boy _ in his ear, the firm grip on his hips that pulled him back against Beck’s thickening cock. He’d slipped under so fast it left his head spinning, and even now as he shifted from one foot to the other while he waited for Beck to come back out of the liquor store, he could feel the aftereffects of being so _ gone_.

_ What kind of reward do you want, sweetheart? What can daddy do for his best boy? _

** _Please_ ** _ Daddy, I want you to fuck me, right here I- _ His breath had caught, his own hand being guided to rub himself through his pants. _ I can’t wait, please I feel so _ ** _empty_**_, Daddy I _ ** _need you_ ** _ to fill me up again, _ ** _please_**_\- _

And oh but Beck _ had_. Peter had actually come dry, and really, his cock shouldn’t have such a reaction to that right now with how many times he’d gotten off today. Again, he shifted, squeezing his thighs together as he tried to get a look inside the store, to see if the man was coming or not yet. Beck had even recorded some of it, _ recorded _ him getting pounded by that massive cock, begging his _ Daddy _ for more. His face was fully flushed by now, embarrassed and yet still very, _ very _ aroused just thinking about Beck watching that video alone in bed sometime. _ God, not now, Parker, calm down, you’ll be back at the hotel soon enough_.

They’d nearly gotten caught by a random security guard on patrol, but that had only made it better, and really, who can say they’ve actually fucked on top of the Eiffel Tower? It only made sense to break the rules a little more after when Peter agreed that they should go back to the hotel and get drunk, so here they were. He might have been able to pass as a barely legal adult with these clothes, but an ID check would blow it all up, and what was _ taking _ Beck so long? Another lean let him catch sight of slightly wind tousled hair with a grin, and he rocked back on his heels.

_ Express elevator, going down! _

Beck had playfully cursed at him in French when they reached the ground for not giving him a choice or any other warning before throwing them straight off the Tower. Peter was only a _ little _ sorry for how frazzled the man looked when they landed, too busy basking in the thrill of what they’d done, let alone the adrenaline of swinging down from the top without suit or mask. They hadn’t been seen, of course, and it had been totally worth the look on Beck’s face.

The moment the man stepped out of the shop, he was right up next to him, peering at the brown paper bag that he couldn’t even smell anything through. “What’d you get?” he asked, licking his lips at the memory of that vodka cranberry in Prague, his only comparison. But Beck only smiled and refused to tell him, for which he pretended to be petulant the entire train ride and about a quarter of the walk back to the hotel. Peter tried to sneak a peek while they were on the train, but despite being somewhere off in his thoughts, the man still kept the bag held tight and close, much to his chagrin.

But he couldn’t stay pouty for that long, the walk quickly bringing him back in against Beck’s side, hand in hand, fingers twined. Blame the excitement from earlier, but he couldn’t stop dragging his boyfriend into quick kisses that he wasn’t allowed to take much further than short and sweet, and before long he had to separate himself for the sake of appearances as they hit the lobby.

Safely back in the room, Peter shucked off his jacket, almost tossing it to the floor before remembering how much it probably cost and draping it over the back of a chair instead. Then and only then did Beck pull a bottle of orange juice and a bottle of marshmallow vodka out of the bag, setting them on the table just as Peter fished the ring out of his pocket.

“Managed not to lose it,” he commented, already falling back into a slight amount of awkwardness for all the feelings attached to the very notion of being trusted with something so valuable, so _ important. _ The only thing Beck had left of his world, his _ family_. Peter swallowed as he held it out, but the man didn’t say a word, instead holding his hand out, palm down, indicating for him to slip it on himself.

Peter’s throat went dry, eyes wide as the implication of the act sank in and his heart ran with it. He was so _ fucked_, hands shaking as he stepped forward in silence, thoughts racing. Oh, he was so in over his head, and he tried so hard to pull a face to cover up his terribly inappropriate, twisted wish that it weren’t just a joke. Aiming for _ really, seriously dude? _ and falling horribly short, he slid the ring onto Beck’s finger with a sort of reverence he tried so hard to swallow down and not show, unable to meet the man’s eyes.

_ Probably a stupid question, but you okay? _

_ I’m _ ** _way_ ** _ more than okay, Mister Beck, like... _ ** _way more_**_. _

Beck drew him in, fingers through his hair and expression so soft Peter could melt. He couldn't help relaxing into the touch, looking up at Beck as if he was everything, and when the man murmured another _ good boy _ and leaned down to kiss him, he really did feel like he was melting. Still, the kiss stayed _ almost _ chaste, the sweep of Beck’s tongue bringing them barely over that line, but even as it ignited the spark again, it was easy and slow, a simmer rather than a boil.

“There are probably a few cups in here, bathroom or maybe by the fridge. Bring them to me and I'll make us some drinks.”

Peter returned that pleasant smile with his own almost shy one, reluctantly drawing back to seek out the cups as requested. It hit him then, just a little, nerves sparking at what they were about to do. But he trusted Beck, more than anything, knew that the man wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. With Beck he was _ safe_, and the nerves morphed back into giddy teenage excitement, especially when he thought about how he didn’t plan to be a _ good boy _ at all.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he asked, a question he should have been asking himself, directed at Beck instead. He knew damn well he was about to become one hell of a handful.

It was a thrill to see his excitement reflected in the man’s expression, teasing.

“Last time it seemed to work in my favor,” came the answer, making Peter snort a little, even though yeah, _ yeah it did_. It worked out in both of their favors, and his nose wrinkled as Beck poured the first drink and slid it across the table toward him before pouring his own.

“After you, Mister Parker,” Beck intoned, and Peter shot him a skeptical look as he took a whiff of the drink in his hand that smelled shockingly like...

“For real?” he asked, before taking a sip, and yes. _ For real_. It tasted exactly like an orange creamsicle. He didn’t even know alcohol could _ do _ that. And it was about that moment he seemed to actually register what he was called, accidentally gulping half the drink in one go as it processed.

“Did you just-” he nearly sputtered, shaking his head and holding up a finger. “No no, hold on-” he insisted as he promptly downed the rest of the glass, not even feeling the burn of the alcohol but knowing he was probably making a really bad decision.

“Did you really just call me _ Mister Parker_,” he deadpanned, incredulous, because he knew damn well that’s exactly what the man said. The silence lingered a little too long once he sat his glass back down on the table a little too hard, while Beck took it back and poured him a second drink before sliding it back over, almost conspiratorial in the way he smiled and sipped his own.

“You know, you’re right. You’re _ not _ Mister Parker. Technically, right now you’re Mister Beck. Says so on your passport.”

Peter felt the heat rise instantaneously, face going red at the statement as he was reminded of the passport and the fact that he was supposed to be playing the part of Beck’s _ son_, that he’d just been calling the man _ Daddy_. Which kind of made him wonder if that was the point in the first place; the _ other _ implication in that teasing statement not lost on him either as he tugged a little on the collar of his turtleneck and pondered taking it off.

He took the next drink slower, but by the time Beck suggested playing a game he called ninja questions, it was obvious that he was intoxicatingly out of his depth yet again.

Oh well.

Time to be irresponsible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Paris](https://imgur.com/a/UUTY6H4) by [Xinophin](https://twitter.com/Morkdraws).


	7. Lessons Learned (Pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s with the fishbowl?”
> 
> “For my fish. Duh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am so, so sorry this took so long. I hope you're still with us! We're finally transitioned into the two of them together instead of just Peter's reflections on everything, so that, combined with many life things like multiple hospital visits, strep throat, a kidney stone and rearranging my life around a divorce has contributed to the delay. This one's much longer than the others though so I hope it's worth the wait!
> 
> As ever, this wouldn't exist without my co-writer, KuroAoki, the mastermind behind this story's Beck. Get your own.

It started with Peter curled up in his chair in pajama pants and nothing else, staring at the glass he’d emptied for a second time with a pout. Beck was obviously trying to pace him, and maybe he didn’t really want that, brash teenager he was. He had spider metabolism, he could take it!

_ Yeah no, he couldn’t_.

He was already feeling the effects of two rapidly downed drinks back to back when the first question hit, and to be fair, yes, it was definitely unexpected.

“What’s the weirdest compliment you’ve ever gotten?” Beck asked, attention focused on him, and he blinked for a second, leaning forward a little and tapping at his _ empty glass_.

“I uh... kinda hard to say but when we were in Venice after you took down the water elemental my whole class was holed up in the hotel watching it on TV and Flash — he's this guy in my class that's just a total jerk and bullies me all the time — said that you weren't as cool as Spider-Man, and went on this rant about how cool Spider-Man was, and then he noticed me and threw one of his dumb insulting nicknames at me. That was pretty hilarious honestly because he has _ no idea_. But apparently I'm cooler than you.”

Peter grinned cheekily, finger running along the edge of the glass, clearly amused, and tried to think of an unexpected question of his own. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?” He blurted out, alcohol obviously working its way through his system because he hadn’t meant to ask that at all; an unexpected question even for himself, and he didn’t even blush as much as he normally would have. He watched as the man across from him almost seemed to consider it for a second, leaning a little more forward in anticipation of the answer.

“Depends on what you mean by losing it. Thirteen by some definitions, fourteen by others,” Beck answered easily, and it wasn’t that much of a surprise to him, even if he was pretty curious now. “If, in addition to your own, you could also have the powers of one other superhero you’ve met, whose would you pick?” came the question, along with a half glass of just orange juice, no vodka, pushed back across the table and making Peter pout.

Regardless, he sipped at the juice, albeit a little petulantly, using the time to consider his answer. Nevermind that he hadn’t actually met all that many superheroes, since he refused to include the funeral for any number of reasons. “Um...” A pause. “Maybe Doctor Strange? I mean he’s a freaking _ wizard, _ how cool is that? And I could go like, anywhere I wanted instantly and he’s got that cool cape and stuff,” he ventured, because most of the superheroes he’d really _ met _ before were also mostly human, just with tech and training.

“What did you do besides being a superhero before?” he asked, curious to know more about Beck; who he is, who he was. About his world, his past, but the tilt of the man's head and that long pause had him starting to fidget nervously.

“Kind of bouncing off my idea there, kid. Point is to ask unexpected questions,” came the response Peter kind of expected, but it didn’t stop him from flushing in embarrassment, looking down into his glass of juice while Beck took a swallow of his own. “And I don’t consider myself a superhero.”

It had to be a testament to Peter’s level of inebriation that those words actually made him _ giggle_, because really, not a superhero? The concept itself was laughable; Beck was _ the _ superhero to him now. It was even more telling that doing so made him keep on, because _ laughing was funny _ and the fact that he’d giggled was _ hilarious_. It took him a minute to calm down enough to wipe at his eyes with a breathy, “Sorry sorry, okay okay, fine-” though he nearly dissolved right back into laughter as he glanced at the dubious smile on Beck’s face, nearly sputtering into his drink as he took a swallow to rein the giggles back in, clearing his throat. “Um... if you were suddenly a billionaire what would you buy first?”

“I’d give it to scientific pursuits endeavoring to make the world a better place. What are the girls you had crushes on before like?” Beck countered, rolling straight into his question after he finished answering and catching Peter off guard.

A blink, and Peter pressed his lips together in a firm line, reminded of the fact that they were in Paris now, of the necklace still in its box in his suitcase, of the Plan he had that preceded the Plan that he’d actually executed. He buried his hesitance in the glass of orange juice, using it as a means to gather his nerve, flushed and flustered when he answered despite the fact that everything he wanted now was sitting across the table from him.

“Well, there's MJ, and she's... she's really smart, like _ way _ smart, y'know, and pretty, and _ intimidating_. I can never tell when she's being serious, but she's usually not? I think... she likes really morbid things and knows all kinds of stuff about all that, I... I got her this necklace in Venice — a black dahlia, her favorite because of this famous murder — and I was gonna give it to her when we went to the Eiffel Tower and tell her how I felt, I had this whole plan... and Liz, she was really smart too and funny, and just... she was _ really _ pretty, and a senior, and she could've had anybody in the whole school, totally opposite of MJ socially, she threw this party once and her family was like, _ loaded_, and then it turned out her dad was a psycho arms dealer selling weapons built with alien tech so I guess that's my luck, huh?”

He blinked again, then sheepishly nibbled at the edge of his glass, realizing he’d gone off on way more of a tangent than necessary and almost forgetting he was supposed to ask his own question.

“What’s with the fishbowl?”

“For my fish. Duh.”

Oh God, Beck really did just say that with a straight face. Peter’s expression deadpanned completely as he deliberately set down his mostly empty glass and slowly slid it back across the table — and then he registered the look on Beck’s face. Concern? His own expression twisted a little in confusion. Wait, did he just say something weird? 

“You wanna push pause for a sec and revisit that?”

“Revisit your fishbowl? Yeah, ‘cause that was a total cop out answer and you know it. Seriously what kind of a design choice is that? It’s super not intimidating at all y’know. And you can’t tell me ‘space helmet’ because tech is so beyond the bubble head thing now,” he deflected instead, hopefully convincing enough that it'd play off as him missing the actual point of the question amidst their banter. The downturn in the atmosphere was uncomfortable either way, and it felt like they were starting to toe the line between serious and _ negative_.

It wasn’t like he wouldn’t have plenty of time to think about MJ and all the implications of that later, once he was home. This? This was about him and Beck — right here, right now. No one else. He wanted to keep it that way, be fully immersed in every moment as it came.

Thankfully, Beck went with it, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, listening intently with his head tilted a bit as the man started to explain with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I'm not trying to look intimidating. Originally, it was just sort of a one-size fits all prototype. I liked that I was able to move my head around inside it, plus no helmet hair.” A pause, and Peter just nodded to show he was listening. “I tried stuff with a closer fit, thinking it would be safer, but I ran a mission where I got hit bad, ended up not being able to take the helmet off. Couldn't see, couldn't hear. So yeah. The design is stupid looking, but hey. Least it doesn't leave me feeling trapped.”

It made a lot of sense actually, he thought, curiosity satisfied. Maybe he could look into nanotech to help with that sometime? Would Beck even want him to? Maybe he could suggest it later. The stray train of thought nearly made him miss the man’s next question while he absently nudged his glass a little bit closer with his finger, seeing as it had yet to be refilled.

“Do you think Nick Fury was ever a baby?”

Peter nearly choked on a laugh, grateful that he _ wasn’t _ drinking at the moment those words came out of Beck’s mouth.

“No way, I can’t even imagine that, like, can you imagine what his first words were? _ Mother fu- I said no peas! God damn, this diaper won’t change itself!_” he managed to get out, but only barely before he was absolutely cracking up at himself, not only because the impression was _ terrible_, but the image it painted in his head was just overwhelmingly hilarious. Beck was joining him shortly, and God, his _ laugh_! The whole bit kept Peter going for way longer than he meant it to and Beck was there right alongside him in his mirth. He had to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye by the time he managed to compose himself again, wheezing and holding his stomach while Beck settled back in his chair, almost falling back into it there for a second.

“Jesus. I can’t even pretend I don’t believe that’s exactly what it was like. Just. Fury’s head. _ Tiny _ baby body,” the man responded, and _ finally _ poured Peter another drink, but oh God, now he was seeing it too, dissolving into laughter again for a moment because holy shit that image was _ terrifying_. Naturally, Beck silently shaking with his own laughter really didn’t help matters.

“Oh my God, okay, whew, I’m okay, I’m good!” Peter wheezed out once he calmed down enough again, holding up a hand in mock surrender before barreling ahead into his next question. “What’s one thing on your bucket list?” he breathed, licking his lips and catching the residual taste of orange with the faintest underlying hint of the vodka.

“I'd love to do an international road trip. Just drive across the world. Kind of low tech, I know. Just sounds peaceful,” Beck answered, looking almost _ serene_, and honestly, how could Peter get any more smitten with this man? ‘_Let’s do it' _ was on the tip of his tongue for how much it meant to the man, but he bit it back, knew that wasn’t exactly something he could even do right now, and saying _ someday _ was a little presumptuous. God but he wanted to, though.

“That sounds... really nice, like _ really nice_,” he commented, fond smile curving his lips, his fingers curling around his glass as Beck passed the drink back to him.

“What’s your weirdest skill — powers aside.”

Peter snorted a little, thinking while the man poured himself another drink and shifted to get more comfortable in his chair. “I don’t know how weird it is, but I can recite the entire periodic table forwards, backwards, and by category, does that count?” When Beck nodded, he forged ahead with the first thing that came to mind, simple, innocent, and just about the only thing he could think of with the mental image of baby Fury still stuck in his head. “What’s your favorite animal and why?”

“Favorite animal. I like dogs. Wolves or African Painted Dogs, probably. The latter are pretty flashy. Funny shaped ears. What is the coolest present you ever got? Birthday, Christmas, doesn’t matter,” Beck countered, and Peter couldn’t help but hone in on the way the man chewed his lip in thought, couldn’t stop himself from snorting a laugh at the descriptor of the ears. Somehow, it fit that the man liked dogs, and even more that he liked flashy wild dogs even more with how much flair he had himself.

The coolest present, though? Well... His first suit from Tony was way up there on that list, but then, so was basically every gift from Tony — because what’s cooler than super advanced tech? Thinking too hard in that direction was dangerous though, too likely to bum him out. So, Peter took it another direction, smile visible in his eyes as he hid the curve of his lips behind the rim of his glass.

“I mean, that’s a pretty hard ask. Pick a suit, any suit, but honestly...”

A pause for effect.

“A trip to Paris where I don’t have to be the hero for a little while is pretty awesome. Still not as cool as the person that brought me here,” he finished, the slight grin he wore a bit cheeky, but really he was just entirely smitten. He couldn’t help it, and he let it hang for a long moment, steadily nursing his drink and not missing the way Beck’s face tinted ever so slightly pink at how sappy he was being. God. Peter wasn’t even paying attention to how fast he was drinking, not paying attention to much other than Beck, even while he was trying to come up with a question in the back of his head.

The more his head was fogging up from the drink though, the more difficult it was getting not to use the previous questions as jumping points. But then it hit him, and he let his legs drop, leaning back a little in his seat and stretching out until his bare toes could curl against the inside of Beck’s knee, earning a casual press of the man’s fingers against his foot.

“What’s one thing you’ve wanted to do to me since Venice that you haven’t done yet?”

Oh, the alcohol was certainly doing its job, subtly stripping away layers of Peter’s awkwardness and inhibition slowly enough he didn’t even notice it himself. It was pretty clear though in the way he shifted his foot and tipped the chair back onto two legs, not seeming nearly as flustered by his own question as he would be if he were sober. Eyebrows raised a little, he brought the glass back up to his lips, not slowing down in his consumption at all. “_Sexually_,” he clarified with a slight flush over the rim, just because he didn’t want to risk another cop out answer like the one about that damn helmet.

Beck offered Peter a smirk at that, and it made him sip his drink a little faster, even though he kept his gaze on the man, obviously anticipatory. He had to wait for the answer while Beck hummed in thought, but it didn’t matter when the man tilted his head back toward the ceiling and made Peter’s eyes follow the line of his exposed throat.

“Trying to think of something we could actually get away with,” Beck started with a little huff of a laugh, and Peter almost protested that he didn’t ask about something they could _ get away with_, but the man continued and he wet his lips, toes flexing and curling and shifting a little higher. It was obvious just from the way Beck shifted in his seat that he’d managed to alter the tone of their little _ game_.

“Mm, be interesting to see what you’d do with sensory deprivation. Tie you up, blindfold you, maybe some ear plugs. Tease you until you can’t stand it.” 

Peter breathed in through his nose, swallowing hard at the answer that was so worth the wait. He knew in asking the question that it was going to get his mind going, but _ still_. The heat pooled low in his stomach at the way Beck looked at him like he was just waiting to pounce, and a shiver ran down his spine as he unintentionally gulped the last of his drink, glass hitting the table at the same time the legs of his chair hit the floor.

“What are you thinking about _ right now_?” Beck questioned with a subtle lift of his brows, and really, the dark of Peter’s eyes should have said enough.

“What do you _ think_?” he countered immediately, voice a little rough before he swallowed again. Rhetorical, obviously, because he was going to answer, that was the game, and he absently rubbed at the webshooter still fastened around his wrist. It was a comfort thing, he supposed, but right then he was thinking about them in an entirely different way.

“Remembering when you held me by the wrists and fucked me so hard I screamed... wondering how it would feel to be helpless at your mercy since you already drive me insane without all that. Thinking maybe I might want to be done playing this game now, _ Sir_,” he pushed, and maybe if he weren’t so utterly focused on Beck, he might have had the sense to notice how easily it all flowed off of his tongue, or just how far forward he was suddenly leaning.

At the same time, Beck’s fingers worked their way up his wandering foot, thumb drawing along the instep. Peter shivered, imagined that grip tightening, tugging, sliding up to his ankle, maybe; felt the ghost of those fingers around his throat where the bruises looked days old already. He barely paid any mind to the way the man finished his drink and placed the glass back on the table.

“How does it feel to be at my mercy, Peter?”

There was a shift in the man’s gaze, a sharpening Peter registered without consciously realizing it, his foot slipping and toes catching on the edge of the chair between Beck’s thighs.

“Perfect,” he admitted quietly, the grip his toes had enough to keep him from completely overbalancing once things started to tip a little. “_Right_,” he added, as if suddenly remembering the first night when Beck had told him he felt just that. “Like... nothing else exists outside of us.”

He zeroed in on the way the man licked his lips, _ almost _ missing the way he seemed a little edgy, tense. Maybe he was holding back just as much as Peter was.

“Why me, Peter?”

Peter cocked a brow slightly, a clear warning that at least a little cheek was on the way as Beck poured them both likely ill-advised fresh glasses. “Why _ not _ you? Have you _ seen _ yourself?” He took a longer moment, sipping as he thought, fingers of both hands curling around the glass, thumbs rubbing idly at the condensation. His head was definitely swimming now, and he was able to actually notice the slight blur in his vision. _ Welp_. Onward.

“You don’t think I’m too young to make serious decisions for myself or know what I’m doing. You’re not afraid you’re gonna break me.” Peter slid forward a bit, foot moving with him as he oriented himself a little unsteadily on the very edge of his chair. Leaning just enough, he peered at Beck through his lashes, biting his lip. “But I kinda want you to try.”

When the man’s hand shifted to rub along his inseam, Peter knew he’d hit the mark.

“You really can’t get enough, can you, kid?” Beck murmured, pushed his hips forward just enough that Peter’s foot was starting to press between his thighs. He could take a hint, biting his lip once more to not-so-effectively quell a grin as his foot stuck and he pulled the whole chair closer, Beck included, making it so that he didn’t even have to move his own or stretch nearly as far anymore.

“Of you? Never.”

The glint in Peter’s eyes was a little adoration, a little mischief, and he shifted in his seat, brought his other foot up to brace against Beck’s knee. He distantly considered if the invitation was bait, but if it was, he really didn’t care, easing the foot forward between the man’s thighs, bold, sipping at his drink as he found what he was oh so clearly looking for. Eyebrows raised slightly, he pressed closer, sliding his foot and curling his toes against the feel of Beck’s hardening cock through the fabric. His senses hyper-focused on the shuddering breath the man took; the way his eyes slid shut for a moment.

He wondered if he might be able to pull the man’s pants down with his feet alone.

“Whatcha gonna do about it, Mister Beck?” he asked, words a little drawn out, but not quite slurred, tongue teasing along the rim of the glass.

When Beck’s eyes flicked back up to meet his, Peter’s fingers twitched against his cup. He sucked in a shaky breath at the way the man suddenly pressed a hand over the top of his foot, trapping it against the heat of his cock. Grip tightening on his glass, he took another drink, more than a sip, kind of a gulp really. The breath left him in a shudder as Beck rocked against his foot, his toes flexing and curling with the movement.

“If you really want me to push you, Peter, we’re going to have to establish some ground rules.” Fuck, but the wicked curve of the man’s lips _ did things _ to Peter, gaze keeping him trapped as easily as his hand.

“Yeah?” he was quick to answer, a little breathy. “And what are those?” There might have been a little bit of genuine curiosity, the ever present craving for new knowledge, but mostly Peter was just excited at the prospect, eager to please. Beck shifted his grip to Peter’s ankle, holding firm, and God, but it was a thrill, even if they both knew how easily that hold could be broken.

“A safeword or gesture. Something you can use if it ever gets to be too much. Whatever too much might be. Can't be something we would use normally, and it has to be something we'll both remember,” Beck began, and Peter could feel the way the man’s cock throbbed beneath his foot, earning an answering twitch from his own dick. “You're not obligated to use it, if you think you can handle it, but I won't ever be upset if you do.”

Peter nodded almost absently, processing it behind hooded eyes as Beck’s hips rolled slow, a solid, firm pressure, thanks to the grip holding him in place. A million words fought for his attention and it was hard to settle on something significant enough that he could imagine remembering it in the middle of God knew what mind-blowing thing Beck might be doing for him to even need it.

“I... that's not really easy to think of, y'know? I mean, I can think of a lot of words I'd probably never say in that kinda situation but I dunno if I'd remember them...” There were just too damn many to choose. _ Fibonacci. Hydrochloride. Calisthenics. SHIELD. _It could be anything! Peter chewed on his lip a little, shifting his glass so the remaining liquid inside sloshed around. Did it have to be short? “Any ideas?” he asked, hoping maybe Beck could help him narrow it down.

“It needs to be something that will stick in your head, something that you will cling to when you're deep in it. Some people use names, some people use places, or objects that hold significance. Just make sure it's not something that would likely be mentioned within the context of sex,” Beck offered, but otherwise left it up to Peter to figure out on his own, which took far longer than he liked, really, gaze focused on the movement of the liquid in his glass, brows furrowed.

And Peter went through a whole list of possibilities, fingers rubbing at the glass but not quite getting to the point of tapping just yet. Thankfully, the alcohol was helping with those nerves, too. His mind was readily supplying him with a plethora of probably way too obscure scientific terms, but nothing stuck out as anything memorable; or at least not enough for when he couldn’t remember his own name, at least until something clicked. Damn, it was kind of embarrassing though...

“Uhhh... would Karen work? It’s uh... it’s what I named the system in my suit ‘cause it was kinda weird just calling her suit lady. Can I change it later if I come up with a better one some other day? I mean I know it’s kinda lame...” he rambled, before Beck cut in with a slight hitch of his hips, bringing Peter’s attention to the fact that he’d been keeping still while he figured out a word.

“Karen sounds fine to me. I don’t think it’s lame.”

Well. So long as it worked Peter could roll with it, for now at least. He curled his toes once more against the movement of Beck’s hips, nodding when the man checked in with him with a simple, “Good?”

“Good,” Peter answered, obviously, his other foot rubbing the top of Beck’s knee since it wasn’t being restrained. He already wanted to push, more than he had, wanted to know what was going on inside that head. He _ really _ wanted to know how far Beck would go, especially if he was only just laying the ground rules now. How much more would the man give him if he really let go?

Getting choked a little by his Daddy up against the window was just a glimpse, Peter was sure of it.

“So, what are you gonna teach me tonight, Mister Beck?” he asked over the rim of his glass, the alcohol making him somehow simultaneously better and worse at playing innocent.

Beck’s fingers pressed against his foot, the man arching into him once more before he moved it away, standing and leaving Peter to stare as he crossed the room while his feet lowered back to the floor.

The singular word that followed made him lick his lips in curious anticipation, leaning forward in his chair.

“_Patience_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry. Blame Kuro, his evil is rubbing off on me, please don't kill me!


	8. Lessons Learned (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All I want _is_ you, Peter. You’ll stay with me, right? Through anything.”
> 
> “_Yes_-” came instantly in response, and Peter didn’t even have to think about it, knew deep down beneath the layers of haze and insanity and insecurity and desperation that there was nowhere else he could possibly feel this way. It filled him up even before Beck did, breaking him down from the inside and pulling the pieces back together and it was so _perfect_, it was _everything_. “Swear I’ll never leave, I swear, I couldn’t- never-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so sorry for the wait here, it was only supposed to be like a week of torture for you guys I swear! I hope this monstrosity of a chapter makes up for it some!

_Patience._

Simple. Direct. And yet it had Peter’s head spinning just as much as the alcohol did when he spun around to follow Beck’s path across the room. He nearly toppled out of the chair, but managed to steady himself just in time to notice the object being tossed at him. A slightly undignified yelp slipped out, the liquid in his glass sloshing dangerously close to the edge as he nearly fumbled the item, his brain sluggish with the decision of which hand he should use to catch it.

“That’s for you,” the man informed him, though Peter was momentarily distracted by the way he peeled off his shirt. It wasn’t even meant to be erotic, he knew, but, well. It was. The room seemed to reel as he tracked Beck finishing off his last drink and putting away the juice and vodka. He tried to make a mental note _not_ to whip his head too fast.

Man, web slinging would be a _nightmare_ like this.

“Um... thanks?” he ventured, making what was arguably his most intelligent decision of the evening and _putting the glass the fuck down_ as he looked back and forth between Beck and the flexible, black silicone ring in his hand. God, he was supposed to know what it was, wasn’t he? The snort he got in response did nothing to stop the color from rising to his cheeks, and he looked down briefly in embarrassment before Beck stepped back up into his space, fingers pushing through his hair like a subtle guidance he leaned right into.

“It’s a cock ring,” Beck explained, nails scratching pleasantly against Peter’s scalp as he spoke, coaxing out a shiver despite the way he stilled at the revelation of what he was holding. “You’re going to wear it. Don’t worry, it stretches.”

Oh. _Oh._ Oh _God_. It wasn’t as if Peter didn’t know _about_ cock rings, but he’d never _seen_ one, let alone used one. He did know their _purpose_ though, which went well with the lesson he was apparently going to be taught.

_Patience_.

And then the entire tone shifted as Beck’s fingers fisted in Peter’s hair and tugged his head back, making his breath hitch sharply, eyelids lowering slightly. The man’s gaze was so intense, entrapping, the growing hunger there getting an answering twitch from his cock, already more than half hard in his loose PJs. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to, eyes dark and wanting, eagerness written all over his face.

“When I let you go, you're going to strip. I'll show you how to put on the ring, and then I want you face down on the bed. Might need a little of that webbing of yours too, so make sure you keep that on you. You got all that, Peter?” The slightly harder tug to his hair acted as an emphasis, the tone of Beck’s voice calm but brooking no argument, and Peter distinctly remembered the first time he felt like the man could simply eat him alive and he’d be okay with it. A shiver ran through him as he wet his lips, mistakenly trying to nod against that grip.

“Yes, Sir,” he choked out on a broken gasp, the alcohol in his veins probably the only thing that was keeping him from vibrating right out of his skin in anticipation. And even still, it was mere seconds after he was released that his pants were off as told, though the room tilted dangerously with how quickly he moved and he only just caught himself before looking again to Beck for instruction. How hard could it be, though? It seemed pretty intuitive...

There again, those eyes looked like they were devouring him, and oh, Peter knew the picture he presented, bruises standing out against the otherwise smooth, pale expanse of his flesh, knew because he’d stared at them with pride just hours ago. From one bite mark to the next, the yellowing bruises around his throat, the finger shapes marked like perfect tattoos into his hips, he loved every single one of them, ached for more, and inherently knew that Beck was going to give him just that.

“It’s a bit like stretching your ass,” the man began, nodding toward the ring in Peter’s hand. “Put your fingers through it and spread, then you can slide it onto your cock,” Beck continued, and he gave the ring an experimental stretch, no more difficult than a normal rubber band for him, but he could still gauge the resistance, knew it would be _tight_. But that wasn’t all, as Beck stepped closer, the corners of his mouth curled into that catlike grin of his. “Then, you’re going to take it a step further. Keep it stretched along the bottom so you can fit it around your balls. Go on now.”

Peter couldn’t help the momentary gawking, between the resistance of the band and knowing it was going to soon be constricting his _balls_ too. But he swallowed, shaking it off. Beck knew what he was doing. Beck wouldn’t actually hurt him or do anything dangerous.

And so he did as instructed, only hesitating a moment, eyes darting to the ceiling and then falling shut from the little friction he gave himself on the way down. He took a breath, slid it carefully down the rest of the way, and swallowed again, nerves spiking before he finally eased the spread of his fingers in order to let the ring settle in place. And-

“Oh, _fuck_-” came out as a choked sort of sound, entirely involuntary at the immediate pressure. His mind blanked for a second where he forgot to breathe, forgot everything else, senses dialed in on the vice grip around his cock and balls to an impossible degree. Another breathless curse and he snapped himself out of it just enough to remember that he needed to be on the bed, but even moving to climb up was almost too much already.

“Before you get too comfortable, go ahead and bind your feet and wrists to each corner of the bed,” Beck continued once Peter was up on the bed, and really, comfortable wasn’t the word he would choose with how even just the subtle drag of his straining cock against the duvet nearly made him whine, but he listened anyway, shivering at the feel of the man’s eyes on him. “I want you spread open, face down.”

Peter barely hesitated long enough for the snapped command of _‘now’_ to follow before he was gritting his teeth against the intensity of putting his weight on his already trapped dick, spread eagle on the bed and aiming his web-shooter. It was an awkward angle, only made worse by his inebriation, but he managed his feet and his left wrist before looking between the device and Beck, then to the corner of the bed and back to his wrist. It might have been difficult to really calculate with everything vying for his attention, but after a moment, he nodded to himself, bringing his wrist to his mouth.

Teeth unhooking the mechanism from his wrist, Peter put his cheek to the mattress, throwing his arm back out. Blurry vision didn’t make getting the angle right any easier, and he had to use his tongue to trigger the shot, but he did it, already breathing heavy as though restraining himself was a monumental task.

As if he would have come already if not for the ring.

Head flopping back to the bed, he dropped the band from his teeth, sucking in a breath and trying to settle himself. He watched with glazed eyes as Beck ran a finger along one of the strands of webbing, humming in approval and taking the web-shooter to wipe off on his pants.

“Excellent job so far,” the man purred, and Peter’s lashes fluttered at the praise, falling shut briefly as he tried to lean into the hand that dropped to stroke through his hair. “Now, do you remember the name of the lesson?” came the next question, and he shivered at the way fingers trailed down over the back of his leg before retreating completely, biting back a cry at the way his hips twitched and drove his aching cock against the bed. Despite craning his neck, he couldn’t see the man anymore, so he whimpered and nodded.

“_Patience_.”

Something Peter Parker had never been good with, mind moving too fast to sit still for any length of time. It raced in the silence, because he couldn’t see Beck at all, knew he was back there somewhere, but not where. Had no idea what he was doing. It felt like an eternity held and stretched as he was, torn between inherent jittery impatience and _begoodbegoodbegood_. It was like a mantra as he just tried to focus on his breathing, limbs increasingly restless without any concept of how much time passed. He couldn’t hear any movement from Beck, but he could _feel_ the man’s eyes on him, making him want to squirm.

It was impossible to tell whether Peter was flushed from embarrassment, arousal, or alcohol, but it was likely a combination of all three, and why didn’t he think before that Beck doing _something_ to him could actually be him doing _nothing_ ? He bit his lip hard when his hips finally twitched down, a strangled, quiet sound of frustration escaping him as he tried so hard to rein in his need to writhe afterward. He tried to count, tried to lecture himself on quantum theory, _tried to recite the periodic table six ways to Sunday_ but it wasn’t enough, his brain was too damn scrambled.

When Peter heard the scrape of a chair, though, the soft sound of something being set upon the table, he honed in on it, hazily transfixed by the sound of Beck’s steps and then _suddenly_, a blow landed on his ass making him cry out, surprised, but needy. It burned, stung with the bite of metal he could only just associate with the man’s ring, and his hips drove down, away, only to rock back in order to relieve the terrible pressure against his trapped dick.

“Why did I spank you, Peter?” registered just enough to his hazed brain, but articulating was another matter entirely.

“Was-wasn’t p-patient en-enough?” Peter managed, certain that his inability to stay still was the reason why.

“Correct.”

Beck smoothed his hand over the heat left in the wake of the blow, and Peter let out a sigh of a moan, cheek to the bed and blurred gaze fixed on the wall. He could feel the man’s thumb teasing at the edge of his still loose rim and his breath came out shaky.

“Would you like to tell me _why_ you couldn’t be patient, Peter?”

Oh God, why _couldn't_ he?

“‘m sorry, Sir, was-” his breath hitched. “Always have a h-hard time keeping still I-” his hips twitched again, drawing out a hiss. “Didn’ mean to-” It was true, but he didn’t know if it would be sufficient, or what came next if it wasn’t. Previously, an insufficient answer only earned him a more firm prompting, but now? Now, accidentally twitching into the mattress to his own detriment earned a punishment, and not knowing what that might entail sent him reeling.

“I’ve noticed,” Beck responded, and really, it wasn’t something limited to just the bedroom, to just now. And yet that hand retreated and Peter tensed, but no further punishment followed, only instruction. “You will stay as still as possible from the time I stop talking to the time I start again,” Beck prompted with a pause. “Obviously this precludes breathing and other involuntary bodily functions. In other words, I’m not going to punish you if you have to sneeze, Peter.”

It was both a relief and a cruel reality, because after Peter muttered a _Yes, Sir_, there was no touch, and he took the opportunity to curl his fingers into his palms as a distraction so that he didn’t accidentally do it later. Despite himself, he found his muscles screaming at him to move, forcing him to clamp down on the impulse as the time ticked on, no matter how much it made his legs burn. He could do this, a mantra repeated over and over in his head.

He could be _good_.

“_Good boy,_” was enough to edge him when it finally came, and Peter released a full body shiver, let out a plaintive sound as fingertips trailed down the length of his spine. He still tried to keep his hips from moving, if only because of how his cock was so hard it _hurt_, the smooth, expensive duvet feeling more like sackcloth against it. He had to constantly remind himself _patience, patience, patience_ just so he didn’t outright fall apart so soon, sure that Beck would be horribly disappointed with that, and so he just flexed his fingers, tried to focus on anything other than the throbbing between his legs. Anything other than the firm press of Beck’s palm against his lower back.

“How did you like being spanked, Peter?” the man asked, and God, but he shook.

“_Good_\- it was good, Sir- hurt but I liked it- _deserved it-_” he managed, shockingly only difficult because of how shaky his breathing was rather than the embarrassment, the last part coming out on a near moan. He couldn’t exactly help it if the admission under these circumstances really _did something_ to him. It was just one more confirmation for Beck that he enjoyed being made to loosen his tongue and speak uninhibited, that he loved giving up control, that he enjoyed _all of it_.

“Would you like another?” Beck inquired, the already sharp sting dulling into a light throb and warmth, the way the man touching him too much like not quite enough. Did Peter want to be spanked again? God, just thinking the word _spank_ made his face burn with humiliation, and he bit his lip because _yeah_. Yeah, he liked that Beck made him want all of this, that Beck wanted it of him. He liked the shame of how wrong it was to like it. 

Fuck yes, he wanted another.

“Yes, Sir, if you think I deserve it,” Peter answered breathlessly, and whether it was a punishment or a reward he didn’t know, didn’t even care. Coiled as tight as he was, the breaks between allowed him at least a chance to catch his breath, everything from the weight of Beck’s body against the bed, the feeling of his hand, the words from his lips all serving as a distraction.

And yet he didn’t get just one, he got _four_, hips jerking sharply with the first, the sharp, stinging heat returning immediately and only ramping up faster and higher with each subsequent hit, the cry of surprise at the first hit nothing compared to the sounds he made for these. He outright screamed by the fourth, shaking and choking on near sobs from how badly he _needed_, the friction of the bed against his oversensitive cock too much and not enough at the same time. He’d almost given his webbing a run for its money by then, and he actually thought in a moment of clarity that he should engineer a stronger filament just for this purpose.

That moment was gone fast enough though as the bed dipped and he half-panted, half-sobbed, forehead to the mattress as his muscles twitched and tensed. Too much, not enough, _needneedneed_ because he’d never been this worked up in his life (and that was saying something considering everything else they’d done). His ass _burned_ hot from the blows, and this time that sting lingered, sank deeper. He turned his head to the side where Beck lowered himself to the mattress, eyes glassy and lower lip swollen and flushed from his own teeth. And yet as much as he _needed_, brows knit with every ounce of it, his look was also _imploring_, waiting. Not for himself, but for whatever Beck wanted.

_Patiencepatiencepatience_ even as his hips kept moving ever so slightly, not enough to get anything more than greater frustration, but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the mewling little noises it dragged out of him either.

When Beck leaned over, weighing him down with an arm across his thighs, Peter squeezed his eyes shut on a strangled sort of whine, the extra pressure on his poor cock making him grit his teeth in that desperate back and forth between too many kinds of ache. Despite it, he shivered, every touch against his burning skin feeling amplified as if Beck had exposed raw nerve endings and toyed with them.

It was fucking _incredible_.

“I’m impressed, Peter. You’re doing very well. How should I reward you?” Beck asked, and he almost, _almost_ begged at it, but the hot sweep of the man’s tongue across the abused flesh of his ass made his hips stutter, earning a whimper instead, the sound pitching higher when teeth followed.

Peter was pretty sure this was how he was going to lose his mind. Or die, maybe.

The last thing he expected was a bite, a _hard_ one, to his unmarred cheek, ripping a strangled moan from his throat. If he weren’t so entirely strung out, muscles locked, he might have wondered if the man broke skin, but the pain eased as soon as the bite did. Even still, it throbbed hard, sunk deep, bruising, the touch of Beck’s fingers to the indentations he left afterward making him twitch away just as much as he _couldn’t_.

“The other side was missing something,” Beck commented, breathing heavy. It sounded like an excuse, but honestly in this state, Peter couldn’t tell if it hurt more than it felt _good_. He tried so hard to shift against his bindings so he could see Beck at all, to remind him of where he was, but the webbing only had so much give by design. God, but he ached in so many ways that had nothing to do with words, etched in his very expression, needing more than he ever needed before. He couldn’t even manage to beg with his words, but he did with his eyes, groaning shakily at the thought of how hard he was going to come as soon as the damn ring was off of him.

But then Beck moved closer, as if in response to Peter’s straining, hand gently stroking his hair and easing some of his tension. He leaned as much as he could into the touch, sighing out a moan at the contrasting softness as that hand shifted to cup his face. He let his tongue dart out to slide against the pad of Beck’s thumb as it drew across his lower lip, sweat already beading on his skin as he stared up at the man through his lashes, glassy eyed, hungry.

“Nod if you want me to fuck you, Peter,” came the soft spoken courtesy, or maybe it was kind of a formality, and technically Peter could still form some coherent words at least, but keeping his mouth shut had kept him from crossing any lines so far, kept him firmly in the realm of _good boy_. So he spoke only when spoken to, tried to keep that in mind as best he could as he nodded — of course he did. And yet even still, the slide of his tongue hinted at something else entirely, because as much as he absolutely wanted Beck to fuck him right then, he wasn’t quite sure he minded one way or the other so long as he could have the man’s cock.

For a moment, Beck simply indulged him, thumb following the sweep of his tongue, but he’d asked a question and clearly didn’t intend to get sidetracked. Peter nearly sobbed again at both the loss of touch and the shift of the bed against his cock, yet as the man stepped away he distinctly heard the pop of a button, the sound dragging an outright _moan_ from his throat, because somehow the slide of a zipper had never sounded so _erotic_. He couldn’t see, but he could _hear_, the sound of clothing being shed and then the low groan Beck made...

And then he _could_ see as Beck moved back around to the side of the bed, his throat going dry, but mouth watering at the same time, a sensation he was wholly unused to.

_God_, but he _needed it_.

“Need to be filled, Peter?” came the next question, as if reading his mind, and he made a noise in his throat, because yes, _yes_, he needed it, nodding, even as Beck retreated from view and placed a pillow beneath his hips. The friction of his aching cock against even the softness of that pillow was absolute torture, compounded by the soft hiss he could hear from behind and then the sudden, overly welcomed tease of the man’s cockhead against his hole.

“You can say it,” Beck taunted, and even as Peter tried to arch back, the words just tumbled from his lips as though he’d been holding them in the entire time (and hadn’t he been?).

“_Please Sir please I need it I need you I need you to fill me with your cock and fuck me so hard I can’t walk and I wish I hadn’t made you come so much today because I need you to fill me up so bad Sir please I can’t stand it-_”

And yet even that wasn’t enough, and he full-on sobbed when all he earned was a firm palming of one of his reddened cheeks.

“And what would you do for me, Peter? What do you have to offer?”

The question was like a slap to the face, accompanied by the teasing press of Beck’s cock just past his still loose rim only for it to retreat. He tried to follow it, but couldn’t, so much need suffusing him that he could hardly think.

“Anything!” he gasped out, eyes burning with how frustrated he was. “_Anything you want, Sir, I’ll do it you know I’ll do it I promise, I swear Sir I’ll be good, I’m all yours you know it, Sir please-_”

“I do know,” Beck countered, offering him just the slightest bit more of his cock before pulling back once more and making Peter sob yet again, wetness sliding down the bridge of his nose into the duvet (and he knew it wasn’t sweat). “All I want _is_ you, Peter. You’ll stay with me, right? Through anything.”

“_Yes-_” came instantly in response, and Peter didn’t even have to think about it, knew deep down beneath the layers of haze and insanity and insecurity and desperation that there was nowhere else he could possibly feel this way. It filled him up even before Beck did, breaking him down from the inside and pulling the pieces back together and it was so _perfect_, it was _everything_. “Swear I’ll never leave, I swear, I couldn’t- _never-_”

Even the thought of being without Beck made him choke on the last word, made him _need_ even more, eyes stinging and hot with tears. It wasn’t _bad_, it was just so _much_, he felt like his chest was going to explode.

“As stuck with me as I am with you, Peter,” the man answered, his voice so gentle Peter couldn’t stop the tears from finally falling, only able to brokenly sob out a second _yes_, and then a third. The sound Peter made when Beck finally sank into him fully, filling up the emptiness again was one of pure _gratitude _ alongside the man’s own low, shuddering moan. He pushed his hips back as much as he could, desperate for the feeling, trembling from the overwhelming sensations and still greedily wanting _more_.

And more he got, a mewling cry escaping him as the heat of Beck’s body lowered over him. God, but it felt like it was going to absolutely _consume_ him, and that was so, so okay. The shallow movements of the man’s hips just served to pitch his voice higher as it forced his cock to shift against the pillow, an exquisite torture that had him so far gone, but not quite so far that he couldn’t catch the next words with crystal clarity.

“Do you want to break your bindings, Peter?” was murmured against his shoulder, large hands sliding up under his arms and around his wrists, and he shook his head almost violently, immediately.

“_No, no Sir, please-_” Peter choked out, almost as if he were afraid Beck would break them for him despite the fact that he knew he was the only one who could. It might have been meant as a mercy, but it was the last thing he wanted as he forced his hands to uncurl, fingers splayed purposefully in protest to the very idea of being free. Freedom felt like failure and he was determined to see this through to the end, _wanted_ to. _Needed to_. If he were told to break them, he would, but it wasn’t a choice he was going to make himself.

Beck’s arms wrapped around his torso set Peter’s skin on fire, but he felt _safe_, secure, so many things it was maddening. And then there were teeth sinking into his shoulder, giving him a pain to focus on other than his tortured dick, and it was _so good_, dragging out a sobbing moan that caught in his throat just as the man punctuated it at the end sharply. Yet, Beck was still barely moving inside of him, and he could hardly stand it, nerves all lit up like Christmas. When the man rolled his hips again, angled just right, he let out another sob that might have been a plea, _needing_.

“Don’t have to stay like this, Peter. You did so good being patient,” Beck groaned, but Peter couldn’t imagine being free, so much about just being held there, bound and brought to the edge of madness that made him absolutely _euphoric_. He couldn’t imagine the burn in his arms and thighs being any less, and yet he was torn, wondering if he was being selfish, but it was so damn hard to think with the pace Beck was setting and the way it forced his poor, constricted dick against the pillow.

“But if you like it that much, keep them on,” Beck added with a breathy laugh, and Peter nearly _keened_ at the way the man’s hand pressed low against his stomach but no lower, desperate in his need to be touched, to be given at least some relief from the ring’s very specific brand of pain. He might not have wanted to be free of his webbing, but with how much pressure was built up in him from every thrust, every graze of teeth, if the ring were removed he wasn’t sure he’d be able to _stop_ coming.

“_Please_\- if you want me to, Sir I will, just-” he tried, words cut off with Beck’s hand wrapping neatly around his throat, teeth once again digging into his shoulder. Peter whined, the sound rising with the pressure until a _scream _ forced its way out as he felt those teeth puncture his skin with a stunning level of clarity. He jerked, _hard_, pulse pounding so loud in his ears he only _felt _ the way the tension in his entire right side suddenly _broke_ like the thin strands of sanity he had left.

The noise he made then was fractured as his knee came up, bracing against the mattress so he could rock his hips back hard against Beck’s next thrust, fingers of his right hand nearly putting holes in the duvet for how hard he gripped it just for some semblance of keeping the tension against his left side.

“_Please, PLEASE-_” he begged, wholly incapable of articulating what it was he wanted, how much he _ached_ for that control taken back away from him before he lost control of _himself_ and turned the tables to chase his own release, he was _that far gone_.

“Please what, Peter?” Beck asked, though honestly Peter could barely keep himself together enough to _understand_ at that point, just enough to feel the man’s fingers digging into his thigh for leverage, enough to feel both distant and sharp, every quick bite that was littered across what felt like every inch of his back. When screams weren’t being ripped out of him with every thrust, he was sobbing, whining, pleading, knowing he couldn’t form the words to respond. He was crying, he registered, just before his last sob broke shrilly as Beck’s hand swatted across the bruises on his ass and followed it with a harsh grope, reminding him of how much it _ached_.

It was impossible to even tell how much of the wetness on the duvet was from his tears and how much was his own drool from being unable to keep his mouth shut for so long, but when Beck’s hand slid up from his throat to grip him by the chin, turning his head, he felt a cold string of saliva snap along the side of his face. Through the burn in his eyes and the haze of his tears, he could barely get a glimpse of Beck before the shift of the pillow beneath him took all of his attention again.

“You need to come, don’t you?” was a question nearly lost as Peter choked, eyes rolling back and hips bucking harder back against Beck’s hips at the way the man’s fingers teased along the edge of the ring. He could barely form the right sounds to even say _yes_, wailed incoherently at the slightest tug to the silicone, shook and writhed with wanting because _God fuck please could he, YES_.

And then Beck was slowing to a deep, easy rocking pace within him, enough that Peter could at least catch his breath for just a moment before some of the pressure on his aching junk was just _gone_, enough to make him choke on the relief. He couldn’t even fully comprehend the words murmured against his cheek, couldn’t stop shaking as the pressure eased further, was sure he heard a _good boy_ in there somewhere, but it was all too much, _too much_.

“_Fuck_, Peter...!” came with pressure back around his throat even as it left his cock, everything still so painfully tight, overloaded and ready to explode. Beck’s hand barely even touched him before he did just that, the man’s name forcing itself past the tightening grip.

It was like nothing Peter had ever experienced before, new heights upon new heights and he was _gone_ with it, couldn’t even comprehend how long he came despite the fact that his body had barely a trickle left to give. He lost his sense of self, whited out from the sensations, jerked so hard the rest of his bindings snapped and yet still, he was barely even able to come back to himself because through it all, Beck hadn’t _stopped_.

The next moment was an almost nauseating blur, but Peter didn’t think, he just _moved_, tugged at the hand around his throat and pulled an absolutely _obscene_ act of flexibility. Despite the alcohol not helping his coordination, he managed not to clip Beck in the face as he tucked and twisted fast enough to make the whole world spin around him. Somehow, he was able to get onto his back without the man’s cock slipping out of him, right ankle hooked over Beck’s shoulder and left heel pressed to the small of his back to make extra sure that cock stayed buried deep.

Maybe later Peter would have time to be surprised at himself, but right now he was tangling his fingers in Beck’s hair, pulling him into a frantic, sloppy kiss before dropping his head back and guiding the man’s hand right back to his throat to grip and squeeze again. Combined with the way Beck picked up the pace of pounding into him as though their positions hadn’t changed at all, the pressure on his throat had Peter seeing stars all over again, as if he could even catch his breath without it.

“You’re not gonna be walking tomorrow, Peter,” Beck warned, and Peter’s back arched against the fiery drag of nails down his chest, one fresh pain to join the innumerable others aggravated all over his back now that it was pressed and shoved into the mattress. Even when the man’s grip lessened, he could barely catch his breath, too busy gasping for air between every kiss, crying out for every maddening thrust. He couldn’t tell if he was hard again, or still hard, or coming down from one orgasm just to be launched straight into another, too overwhelmed by it all while his hoarse, overused voice still rang out louder than the slap of skin.

“_I don’t care_,” Peter rasped out in response, too fucked out for shame and too drunk for silence as his fingers tightened in Beck’s hair, teeth catching on the man’s lower lip just briefly. Somehow, there was still _awareness_ enough in his gaze, a sharpness piercing through the glassy, blown state of his eyes. Maybe it was because the overstimulation was just so much that everything was starting to turn into one constant buzzing white noise of sensation, or maybe tuning in on Beck’s face helped him focus, he had no idea, could barely think beyond the deep desire to bring the man over that edge, too, the need to just _be there_.

“_I wanna make you come_,” came barely audible against Beck’s ear as Peter pulled him down, and Hell, maybe he was just half-conscious and ruled by instinct and lust at this point with the way he tugged at the lobe with his teeth. Lips and tongue followed for the briefest moment before his breath caught on a cry that he pressed into Beck’s shoulder, nails digging into the man’s back and slipping with every sharp thrust.

And then Beck was pushing against his thighs, folding him practically in half and stealing even more of his breath as he relinquished his grip in the man’s hair just to cling desperately to his arms.

“Tell me how much you love my cock, Peter. That mine is the only one you ever want inside you. Tell me how grateful you are that I wanted you bad enough I risked it all, just to have you all to myself,” Beck demanded, gaze unwavering and nearly manic, mad, and Peter didn’t even have to ask for it harder or faster or anything else because it was what he got anyway, pretty sure that he never did go soft and that if he came again he _would_ pass the fuck out (and was actually pretty sure he wanted that).

But how could he even articulate with his cheek pressed to his own knee, folded in half and pounded so hard he could barely breathe only to have what little air he could get stolen by one sound or another. He wanted to, and he tried, but he couldn’t, could barely get one syllable out at a time, too broken to make an actual sentence.

Instead, it was just a litany of _F-fuck- Beck- Please-_ and _Yours- O-only yours-_ and _C-can’t-_, all moans and sobs, hissed breaths and pitched whines. It was a fight to keep his eyes open, because if he closed them the rest might actually be too much, already pushing him past his limits (but he refused to call it). It hurt, everything did, but it was like the pain was just a part of him now and he couldn’t separate it from anything else he was feeling. It just _was_ and he just _accepted it_, craved Beck’s pleasure more than his own comfort.

He got it and lost it in turns, though, seemingly simultaneous as Peter registered Beck’s hand and the curl of his lip too sluggishly, almost distant. A sharp pain jerked his head to the side, cutting off his already broken words, vision swimming and ears ringing and heat rising to his face all at once. The sting only registered after, along with a bone deep ache that seemed to block out everything else, eyes burning and lip quivering purely out of a primal level of reaction that left him trembling in its wake.

The shock of it was so sharp that it felt like he was two hundred percent in the moment, sober and fully awake. Still, he missed the look on Beck’s face as he came, barely heard the sound of his moan with how hyper-aware he was of himself while simultaneously feeling so far away from the situation. It was strange, he thought, wide-eyed gaze focused on the way his hand lay palm up, fingers slightly curled next to his head. When had his arms dropped?

A delicate touch against the sharp throbbing of his cheek dragged Peter out of his headspace, and he finally turned his head to look at Beck again, eyes still wide and wet with unshed tears. He couldn’t stop the quivering of his lip, the way his body shivered still, otherwise boneless beneath the man. Despite the shock, however, there was no fear in his eyes, only his own worry mixed with confusion and a tinge of frustration that he couldn’t seem to stop his shaking.

Beck looked equally as concerned as he lowered Peter’s legs back down, fingers combing through his hair earning another heavy shudder and a fraction of relaxation. He could see the way the man was starting to fray even before he started talking.

“Peter, I’m sorry, I got carried away, I didn’t think. Didn’t _mean_,” Beck stopped himself to take a breath, and Peter reached his hands up, smoothing both thumbs over the crease of the man’s brow, pushed his fingers through sweat soaked hair. “I don’t want you to think I’m mad at you,” came the follow-up, and he brought his hands back around to pull Beck down, trembling and slow.

“I’m okay. It’s okay,” Peter breathed out, and really it had to be, because if it wasn’t then he’d just feed on Beck’s worry until he freaked out himself. So, he was gentle when he dragged the man down for a kiss, slow, easy, like the one on the plane that felt like ages ago when he said _we’re gonna be okay_. It just felt like what he needed to do, for himself as much as for Beck, and he repeated the words from then murmured hoarse against the man’s lips. He knew it, meant it, even if he was still coming down from it all himself.

“Is it?” Beck asked, voice small as he reciprocated, but Peter could see the gears turning still, could feel the spiral tugging at him too. “I’m so fucked up,” the man whispered, probably thinking Peter couldn’t hear it that quiet, but of course he could, but he kept on soothing him, because what else could he do?

“‘Course it is, why wouldn’t it be?” he answered, because he had to fight to keep from getting pulled in what with the haze of the alcohol starting to creep back in, exhaustion in every limb, and the way all of his own edges were frayed tonight. He just kept on what he was doing, hoping it would get through, and eventually it seemed to, the expression on Beck’s face when he finally lifted his head twisting something in Peter’s chest.

“Peter?”

God, what was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? His _everything_ hurt, moving hurt, but he was locked in the conflict in Beck’s eyes.

“Beck- _Quentin_ I-”

But nothing came out. For too long he was speechless, staring, too many words and not enough sense that he could make of them buzzing in his head. He was frozen, panic welling up as the seconds ticked by like hours and eventually _something_ had to come out of his mouth, even if it was just air.

“_IthinkI’minlovewithyou._”

Wait. _What_?

That was funny, he could have sworn he just heard himself say-

Hah- No-

_Shit. _

“Peter, you’re drunk,” came Beck’s reply, and just like that the shame followed. Peter felt his face heat up, but it was honestly kind of nauseating, and he tried to swallow it down, because it definitely wasn’t the kind of shame he _liked_. He made a valiant attempt at covering it up with a self-deprecating smile, small and shaky, a raw little huff of a laugh.

“_You’re_ drunk,” he countered, tried _so hard_, because yeah, that made all the sense. He felt stupid _stupid _ **_stupid_** and childish and _why did he say that_. It was so unhelpful, and Beck was probably right, Hell even what he _wasn’t_ saying was probably right, and he was just- why would he think-

_God_, of course Peter was _drunk_, and he was all but throwing his arms around Beck, rolling them onto their sides and burying his face against the man’s shoulder, head up under his chin because he _knew_ he was a terrible liar. He squeezed his eyes shut because he was drunk and he was a kid and he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, curling up against Beck and just breathing in the scent of him, heavy with sweat and sex. Just a kid. Just _drunk_, and if he could just let the man’s heartbeat lull him to sleep then maybe he’d forget he ever slipped up and said something that stupid.

“_Sorry-_” was muffled into the crook of Beck’s neck, barely audible but obvious enough.

_Yours, yours, yours_, how many times had Peter said it now? He honestly didn’t know, but he knew that he meant it when he said he’d never leave. But he was just sixteen, just drunk. How could he possibly know the difference between a high school crush and whatever this feeling was? He knew he was overreacting just for blurting something out. What was his mind expecting, spitting out words like that?

_It’s been like three days you idiot_.

The sting of his own tears in the cut along his cheek from Beck’s ring was a harsh reminder.

_He was fucking_ **_married_** _of course he knows better how all this works_.

_He was fucking_ **_married_**-

_God you having serious pacing issues, Parker._

It was only Beck’s fingers carding through his hair to soothe him, lips pressing against the crown of his head, the way the man gently squeezed him in his arms that dragged him back from the spiral.

“No, Peter. You don’t have to be sorry. You did nothing wrong. I should’ve been more responsible,” Beck insisted, and it made no sense to Peter, being treated like he’d actually been _broken_, and _fuck_, responsible? Responsible for what? It was the most undone he’d ever seen the man and it twisted in his heart and forced him out of his self-pity because he couldn’t stop himself from putting Beck first, helping others before himself (but it wasn’t just that).

“_Beck-_”

“I care about you so much. Please don’t be upset,” the man added, the emotion seeping into his voice, and that was it, that did it.

“Stop it... I’m not mad at you, _you_ didn’t do anything wrong, what are you worried about? This?” Peter dragged Beck’s hand down to cover the side of his face, kept it there, refused to let go as he shifted to lift his head again, brow knit in some seriously wrecked facsimile of consternation. “This is fine, this- _unexpected_, sure, but _it’s okay_,” because it was fine, that part at least, and the rest was just his own issues, which he was pretty good at ignoring when he was sober and focusing on somebody else.

Beck listened. Beck nodded. At least there was that.

“Just don’t want you to think I meant to punish you or... that I don’t care about how you’re feeling. I do care, more than I really know what to do with,” Beck explained, leaning closer, forehead pressed lightly against Peter’s own. “Just not sure either of us are in the right headspace to try and work through all this.”

At least the man was calmer, allowing Peter to shove his own shit aside for the moment. At least the reassurance sort of helped to start to undo the knot in his chest. It wasn’t completely, but it was something, reminded him of how _real_ it was, how real _they_ were. Maybe he didn’t have to call it anything.

“I know...” he breathed out, and of course, the man was right. Drunk wasn’t exactly a great time to thoughtfully analyze oneself or the situation, and Peter was learning that really, _really_ fast.

“Can I at least take care of this for you?” Beck asked, fingers stroking lightly over the bruise on Peter’s cheek, and he leaned in, briefly pressed their lips together even though he really wanted to drown in it.

“Yeah, I mean I don’t really feel like getting out of bed for a week, so you can take care of whatever you want for me,” Peter replied, voice still raw, but his smile at least a lot more genuine, even if it was tired and the ache of his whole body showed a little. It was his attempt at levity and humor, because he wanted Beck’s brow to stop creasing like that, wanted to see that smile that made him feel like soaring instead.

And there it was, a real smile, one that brought back the warmth and a little giddiness despite the fact that Peter was absolutely _done_. The way he looked at Beck in that moment was everything, everything more than the sex because even though it was incredible, it wasn’t _all there was_. It was why affection in Beck’s gaze and soft kisses with no heat were things that melted away the fear and the insecurity and the panic, things that untangled the knot in Peter’s heart.

He absolutely, undeniably loved when Beck smiled, craved it like it was one of the best drugs.

_Yours_. For too many moments he’d been breaking under the fear that it didn’t actually mean anything, but that couldn’t hold up to the way Beck looked at him or pushed fingers through his hair or that _smile_. _ We’re gonna be okay_.

When Beck kissed him, soft and slow, unhurried, even chaste, it was _everything_.

Still, when Peter had to move, Beck disentangling their limbs in order to get up and retrieve supplies, he winced, because it brought back his attention to all the bruises and the overworked muscles and the deeper, throbbing aches. He still kept his eyes on Beck though as the man went about retrieving what he needed, even as he briefly dipped into the bathroom for what turned out to be two washcloths.

“Can you roll onto your front for me, Peter?” Beck asked as he returned, setting the first-aid kit on the bed, soapy cloth in hand and the other wet with just water draped over his shoulder. The sight was so damn domestic it almost _hurt_. It hurt less, however, to stiffly roll onto his stomach as requested, some of the pressure on the more uncomfortable spots easing up a little, and he could only imagine what he must look like back there.

“Wait-” Peter rasped out, swallowing. “Can you uh- I wanna see first...” He couldn’t help it, even if despite everything, he was still a little embarrassed to admit it. The curiosity of how utterly wrecked he must look and the vivid contrast of all the marks he knows Beck left... well.

And of course Beck obliged, and Peter still had to make a conscious effort not to squirm while the man took pictures, tilted him just so in order to get all of the angles.

“Peter Parker. A naughty little cockslut who likes getting roughed up by his boyfriend, hunh?” Beck murmured, handing over the phone before he began to clean up, starting with the bite on his shoulder. For all that Peter had seen himself roughed up in the past year and a half, it really was nothing compared to how he felt perusing the photos on that phone, taking his time with hazy, wide-eyed wonder at the obvious possessiveness in every mark.

“Maybe I just like it when it’s not somebody trying to kill me,” he joked, working on easing his own nerves away with humor per usual. The cloth stung, and he let his eyes tune in to the picture where he could see the mark that Beck was cleaning. God, he really was a mess, wasn’t he? And yet every single one was a claim, a fact that made his heart soar. He couldn’t imagine not wanting the man’s claim all over him, all of the time.

Still, Peter soaked up the attention as always, lazy and indulgent in how thorough Beck was in cleaning away the blood and dressing the wound, how he trailed kisses as he worked his way south. That cloth even dipped between his cheeks to clean his raw hole and honestly if he weren’t so entirely spent he’d definitely be getting hard again by now. With a sigh, he flipped over when asked, not expecting Beck to retrieve his phone for more pictures, but not complaining even if it was harder not to squirm when he could see the way the man’s gaze lingered and trailed over every inch of him. His own gaze dropped to the marks he could see, and there was a part of him that felt a twisted sort of pride in being able to get the man to lose control a little.

“But you’re a cockslut for the people trying to kill you too? That must have been real awkward with the arms dealer guy,” Beck teased as he finished cleaning the remaining smears of come from Peter’s cock. Eyes snapping back up to the man at his words, incredulous and wide, Peter flushed brilliantly in response. He could feel his cheek throb and it anchored him for a moment before he pulled a face.

“God- what- _no_ I mean unless _you_ were trying to kill but ugh- no- Mister Toomes? No way-” he countered, but Beck was crawling up over him, kissing him and successfully smoothing the disbelief from his face, his eyes once again showing how tired he was.

“You make a habit of seducing older men, Peter?” Beck taunted, and damned if it didn’t work to ease his nerves.

“Pretty sure that’s just you,” Peter shot back, fingers brushing lazily over Beck’s arms. “You kinda make it really hard not to.” He could tell it did the trick as Beck settled carefully atop him, brushing the hair from his forehead and kissing him again with a noise of contentment.

“Just that good looking, hunh? Keep on like that and my head’s gonna swell,” the man snorted. “And you wonder why I need the fishbowl,” was added with a grin, and Peter huffed a painful little laugh, curling his arms around Beck loosely as fingers were soothed through his hair once more.

“Oh, I dunno about that, you’re so down to earth that you got sucked in by a second one, how could you ever be conceited?” he joked, even if it made unintentional light of Beck’s loss. “Don’t worry, though, I won’t let you float away if your ego blows your head up like a balloon.” God, he was tired, rambling like he was, and he breathed a heavier sigh, letting his eyes close to the feeling of Beck’s warm weight on top of him and those fingers in his hair.

“Fucking dork,” Beck replied with a soft chuckle, ruffling Peter’s curls and kissing the corner of his mouth. “Still gotta clean up your face, Peter,” the man added quietly, pushing himself up despite Peter’s grumbled protests. “Don’t have to move, promise I won’t take long. Just have to get you some ice.”

Peter cracked open his eyes again and watched as Beck slid off the bed with the damp washcloth in hand, heading for the mini-fridge. It reminded him a little of every time May had taken care of one of his black eyes, even back when she thought he was just getting into fights. Apparently, there was ice in the freezer portion of the mini-fridge, because Beck returned with it wrapped in the cloth, apologizing for the cold as he rested it on top of the bruise. Hell, the man even took his hand and brought it up to kiss the backs of his knuckles, like outside of the hotel in Prague, and the ice did a good job to calm the heat that wanted to rise to his cheeks from that, too.

Even so, Peter shivered a little, the cold on his face a reminder that without being wrapped up in Beck’s body heat, the room was a little chilly and he was still a lot naked. “Feels nice actually,” he insisted, because it was cold, but it was soothing the throbbing heat, and he shifted his hand, lacing their fingers together. Honestly, all of it felt nice, after the emotional hiccup, the rough (amazing) sex, the everything... It was a nice feeling to be taken care of, and he wasn’t even really embarrassed about it anymore.

Reaching out with his free hand, he grabbed at the edge of the duvet and the sheets, not having to use much strength anyway to tug them down. The uncomfortable part was actually moving to get under them, but he managed with minimal movement anyway. Even with the cold on his face, he really was just going to pass right out any minute.

“Good,” Beck replied, and as Peter started to drift off, he could feel the ice retreating and the cut being cleaned and bandaged, a soft, lingering kiss pressed to his forehead.

The last thing Peter felt before sleep took him was _safe_.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on Discord in this crazy server I'm a part of! I like sharing sneak peaks sometimes. ;p  
https://discord.gg/HGBj6WrmTy  
-TMS


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